Exile's Return I
by Kurtis L. Millette
Summary: The Guidestone set them on the path. Their first jump pushed them onwards. An ancient enemy forgotten to history attempts to stop them. The Mothership and it's crew are the last hope for the Kushan race. This is their story. This is the Exile's Return.
1. Chapter 1: Intro

"If you feel like chatting about homeworld / have your own fanfic ideas / have various comments about typos or other questions / really whatever you want it to be, I have a forum now. Dedicated to HW fanfiction. This one has it's own discussion thread but feel free to make your own. Trying to make a home for us now that relicnews forums aren't relevant to homeworld anymore. Ouf, that was a mouthful. Anyway, if so go ahead and introduce yourselves. If not, have a good read anyway." -KLM

* * *

Homeworld universe by Relic Entertainment and Sierra Studios, currently members of Black Bird Interactive. Thank you to SuperSajuuk for his let's play videos which simplified the writing process. Thank you to Mike Ptak for his insightful map of the Homeworld universe. Thank you to the readers for inspiring me in surprising ways even after years of absence.

* * *

Introduction

Kharak. Even the sound of it's name foretells it's harsh environment; this desert world has been our home for over four thousand years. The hot sands of the great deserts are all our people know or have known for generations upon generations. The polar regions beyond the seas harbor the only habitable land on this planet, equatorial temperatures can rise above the boiling point of water. Even the oldest of our clans remember nothing more than here. Many ancient markings indicate that we did not originate from this world and some believe Sajuuk, our god, banished us here for our sins. Faith aside, not until recent scientific discoveries were made did we uncover the inevitable truth: we are aliens to this world.

One hundred years ago, a satellite's propulsion systems malfunctioned. Instead of scanning for orbital debris, it faced downward towards the Banded Desert discovering something in the sand. An expedition was sent. What they found was an ancient starship buried in the sands; symbols of ancient times were written across it's plating, markings known only to the oldest texts still preserved in the libraries of Tiir. This changed everything. Our past was written in the skies, from a home we knew only the name. Deep inside the relic was a power plant that sent technological advancement centuries ahead of our time. Farther in still, a single stone that would change the course of our history forever.

On the Guidestone was carved a galactic map, and a single word more ancient than the clans themselves: Hiigara, our home.

The word united the clans as one. Wars stopped, rivals cooperated who haven't done so in centuries. Children looked up at the skies wondering which point was home, and whether we would return. A massive colony ship was designed that would take two generations to complete. It demanded new technologies, new industries, and new sacrifices. The greatest of these was made by the young neuroscientist Karan Sjet who had herself permanently integrated into the colony ship as its living core. She is now Fleet Command.

The promise of a new home united the entire Kushan race. Everyone's mind became focused on a single question: Where do we come from? Every effort put into building the ship that would seek it out among the stars…


	2. Chapter 2: Kharak

Chapter Two

Kharak

MARK

_*Beep … beep … beep … beep…*_

He woke to the sound of his alarm clock. He stirred and saw it was well into the morning. _One more day,_ he thought. He got up and into the shower so to not fall back asleep. He had a long day ahead of him, the sendoff party.

There would be a gathering of notable people from around the globe the night before launch. Mark wasn't part of the _Mothership_ crew, his sole purpose for boarding was to test the new fighters' systems. Being the lead pilot of his school and the son of a war hero requires him to fulfill certain social protocols. Much like attending parties like the sort planned for later in the evening. None of it interested him in the slightest.

His small house was like all the others outside the Walls, made from sandstone and clay. His furniture was minimal. A dresser for clothes, dishes enough for two, only because his girlfriend would stop by on occasion. A desk for the rest of his things. A picture of himself with his old friend Jasiid, or Jay to his friends. He grabbed his Sobani necklace from the desk and put it on. He wouldn't be back for days and decided he needed all the luck he could get.

The phone rang as he was heading out the door. "Hi, it's just me calling before you head out." It was Valerie. She was away in the South visiting family.

"Just caught me, was opening the door! So how's the trip going?" he asked.

"Not bad, I could do with less farm stench though. I wish I could see you before you go."

"I'll see you when I get back. We'll have dinner somewhere fancy. I'm sure some place would be glad to have us," he said. He wasn't the type to flaunter his fame and she was embarrassed when he got recognized in public. He would much prefer dinner at home in his small mud-hut.

"Well, I won't hold you up. Love you!"

"Love you too, bye."

His eyes took time to adjust to the sunlight once outside his front door. He put on his shades and glanced at the time. He had to be in Tiir within the hour for preparations. He hopped on his motorbike and took off down the dirt road towards the shining speck in the distance.

ERIC

The young Gaalsien walked along the halls on his way to finally board. He had been aboard the _Scaffold_ for two weeks now, having come up on the fifth transport. He decided there was no place for him on Kharak. His family had been killed years ago in a bombing and he was barely scraping by. He took up a janitorial position on the _Mothership_ hoping he could make a living somewhere else.

His clan did not agree with his decision and offered him no support. Friends he'd had for years cut all ties with him. A girl he had been seeing stopped returning his calls. Some called him a heretic, claiming Sajuuk would punish those who flee their prison before the sentence has been paid.

The people around him were no more kind. "Gaalsien scum!" he heard someone shout. Only another voice in the crowd. He paid no mind to these comments, he had long since stopped caring what others thought of him. A child of war, a member of the Gaalsien. Eighteen years old and has seen more than most double his age. He's been called a terrorist and a heathen by even respectable people, and Sajuuk forbid he run into a Siidim.

He realized he jinxed himself as he was falling to the metal floor. "Why are you even here, terrorist! Trying to bring down the convoy, are you?" the boy shouted, not much older than himself.

"Hey, chill out man, let's go before we're sent back down to that hellhole," one of his friends said preventing a fight.

It had always been like that. He rarely stood his ground, even while growing up in Saju-ka's libraries. He had been beaten then as a child of lower class, he had been beaten by the extremists who took up camp in the sacred temple, he had been beaten by the soldiers fighting against them, always he had been treated this way. He wished this was soon to be the past.

He felt the back of his head where it hit the floor. No blood but it hurt enough. Before he could get his bearings a hand was offered to him. "Hey, are you okay? Nobody deserves that, especially up here." He took the hand and was brought to his feet.

"Thanks, uh."

"Jasiid Nabaal, you can call me Jay." The smile on his face could be trusted. He looked to be a good person.

"Eric Gaalsien." He waited for some disrespectful remark but got none.

"It's okay, I don't care what clan you're from. I'm here for a new beginning, why shouldn't everyone have that chance?" With that thought in mind they kept on towards the boarding terminal.

MARK

He sat alone at a table after the dinner party had ended. He grew tired of repeating himself every half hour to whichever new group of people happened to strike up a conversation. He saw his father but the man was far too busy and bombarded with dinner guests to talk. The man was a legend, after all. Best fighter pilot to ever live, they said. His greying beard was a signal to the rest that the next generation of heroes would come, and who do they lay eyes on other than he himself? Mark Soban, the seventeen-year-old son of Markus the Great, blood heir to Soban the Red.

As he downed another glass of expensive wine, a girl dressed in grey approached him. "The shadow of the legend drinks alone at the edge of the gathering," she said taking a seat with him.

"Well, you obviously know who I am, what's your name?"

"Isabella Manaan, also partaking in testing the new space fighters up there," she said pointing through the glass roof.

She twirled her dark brown hair as she recounted her own tales of danger in the cockpit. He listened intently. He wondered how old she was, probably no more than fifteen. They talked about how uneventful these parties were, how much neither of the two wished to be there.

"Personally, my favorite of your tales is crossing the desert alone at age twelve, should those rumors be true."

"True enough, yes. Honestly, I have no way of knowing how long I was out there for. One day I was escaping rail robbers and the next I'm hopping from oasis to oasis unsure if I'll see another sunset." The experience wasn't a memory he enjoyed revisiting.

"As a nomad of the Manaan, you have my respect as a sand rat of highest endurance," she joked. He laughed with her to that.

"Wanna know a secret? I really hate feeling special."

"Well, Mark, don't think I'll shower you in glory. I'll have to see you in action first." She got up and walked away, but turned and winked.

"I have a girlfriend!" he half-shouted back to her. He could tell she was laughing.

He was refilling his glass at another table, having finished off the bottle at the last. His tolerance was as legendary as his father's. A group approached him, and he smiled back. "And who might you fine gentlemen be?" he asked.

"Son, please meet Huur Sjet," his father said. He barely noticed he was among them.

"It's not everyday I get to meet one of the Sas," he said.

"Oh, it is my pleasure, son. I have heard a great deal about you and your heroic survival a couple years ago alone on that island." He remembered it all too well.

"Your daughter, is she already onboard?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, they have been doing calibrations for months. Everything must be perfect, after all."

"I knew her, I believe. Before my trek up north, I mean. You had a summer home in the South."

"Why, yes! Small world we live in, eh?"

"It's about to get a whole lot bigger," his father cut in. He put his arm around Mark's shoulders and they walked away pretending to get caught up with each other. "Phew!" he said as the door closed behind them. "I'm getting way to old for this shit, eh kid?" he laughed.

"Yeah, no shit, it shows in your beard."

"Hey, watch it, boy. This beard has a grey hair for every stressed out moment I've survived."

"Then you're one hell of a trooper." He enjoyed the time he got to spend with his father. They didn't talk nearly as much as he'd like.

"Saw you with the caravan leader's daughter earlier, she's a hell of a pilot too!"

"Yeah, glad to know _someone_ won't treat me as if my blood had gold in it up there." They laughed to that.

"She's cute, too!"

"She's like fifteen. Valerie is still my girl, you know."

"Oh, she's not bad either! Good job, my boy!"

"You're wasted, old man." They drank in a comfortable silence walking the streets headed to the hotel they were booked in. "Dad?" he said.

"Yeah?"

He pulled out his necklace to show him, "Still got it."

"That thing's so old," he said smiling. "She picked it out, you know." He knew. A somber thought. Silence returned between them. They never talked about his mother, her death was something he never truly recovered from.

He walked with him up to his room. His father grabbed him and pulled him in for a hug. "You have no idea how proud of you I am, son." He couldn't tell how drunk he was at that point, but it scarcely mattered. "Don't let yourself believe my shadow is too far cast to overcome. You'll eclipse me, and I'll be happy to see it happen."

"Go to bed, dad. You're drunk." He couldn't think of how else to reply. He sent him on his way. Once he hit the mattress, he didn't move until morning.


	3. Chapter 3: Sever Your Roots

Chapter Three

Mothership

From the window of his hotel room he could nearly see over the city walls. The great walls kept the sandstorms out and the climate inside controlled. There was once a time when the North flourished in life, but those times have passed. The world was dying.

Before dealing with the withering problems of the planet, however, Mark had to deal with the ache in his head. "Hungover on test day. Good job." Criticizing himself wasn't going to help his situation, so he decided to grab some food in the lobby. His father was nowhere to be seen. He grabbed what he could and went back up to his room. He wasn't ready for daylight this many hours before noon.

When he got there he saw the girl from the night before waiting in front of his door. "Hi!" she squealed, making him flinch almost dropping the bowl of oatmeal he had balanced on a yogurt cup. He hadn't thought this through. How was he gonna get the door open with no free hands? She rolled her eyes and reached in his pocket. "Morning to you too," she said.

"Any particular reason you're here?" he asked shutting the curtains.

"Not really, I'm going alone up to _Scaffold_ and was wondering if you'd like company. Seeing a hangover in person is a fun bonus, though." He contained his urge to yell at her. A glare would have to suffice.

"I guess it'd be better than going alone. You'll find I'm not as likable a person sober."

"Who said you were likable? And you can call me Isel. It's a nickname my friends gave me, it kinda stuck."

He tried to finish his food as they continued to banter. "Why the interest in me? You're accompanying the _Mothership_ voyage, aren't you?"

"Maybe I like the idea of hanging out with a semi-celebrity with no negative consequences?"

"Nah, you don't seem the type," he replied.

"Alright, I was hoping you'd, well, this is embarrassing but I was hoping I could get some pointers if we've got free time docked with the _Khar-Selim_." She took a deep breath and continued. "It'll be hard to believe but I'm probably one of the senior-most pilots headed out with the voyage."

"No way, how old even are you? Like fifteen?"

"And a half! That's not important," she threw back. "I'm class six, but class means nothing if you don't have the skill to back it up. There aren't many Manaani who fly jets. I feel like I was given my position without really deserving it." She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Hey, I mean sure we can go over a few things if you want, but I'm sure you're wrong about that."

"How would you know?"

"Uh, hello? My father runs the air force. He said you were alright, more of a compliment than I got from him until I pulled that class seven granting stunt." Hearing this seemed to cheer her up. "Back to schedule, I have to shower and I don't trust you to not walk in on me, so you're gonna have to pack up and wait." He rushed her out of the room before she could argue. He thought he heard giggling from outside the door.

He stayed in the running water longer than reasonable. Considering his state of mind, it was decided to be necessary. The girl brought back flashes of the incident two years before. There were reasons for his avoidance of the topic. He claims to forget the time on the island when asked. He remembered all too well.

Isabella could not stop speaking the entire trip to the spaceport, asking him questions of all sorts, about his childhood, about his father, about his misadventures in flight academy, the only thing that would get her to _stop_ speaking was when he was. He left his bike at the hotel and chose to take a cab.

"So you _knew_ Karan Sjet? Wow!" He decided his childhood was an easier tale to tell than being trapped on a desert island for months with danger all around him. "And these farmers, do you still talk to them?"

"No. I haven't thought about it. I guess I created a new life for myself and decided to forget the old."

"Well, take it from someone who's been raised by everyone _but_ my parents, you should get in touch when you get back." He wondered what her story was now, but they were at the entrance gates.

"Passports, please." Mark gave theirs, the man stamped them, and sent them on their way. He also handed them each a red and blue boarding pass. "The red one's for the transport and the blue's for the _Mothership_. You might wanna hurry, launch is in fifteen minutes."

"Hurry!" I shouted at Isel grabbing her bags. Getting onto the ship there were ticket collectors who took our red passes. We were guided to a nearly empty room going aft. We had barely time to sit down before a voice came on the speakers.

"Transport Seven, you are clear for launch." Lights dimmed and machinery could be heard starting up.

"This is the captain speaking. We'll be launching in thirty. Buckle up and enjoy your flight." He then laughed, and Mark wasn't sure if he should be comforted or uneasy. Isel looked calm, he decided to do the same. He hadn't been off-world before.

He listened intently to the countdown bracing himself for, he wasn't quite sure. "Here comes the fun," she said as the captain said one. What came next was a deafening roar unlike any he'd ever heard. There was a shudder and could feel himself being pushed down in his seat ever so slightly. He looked out the window. The spaceport faded into the rest of Tiir's shining metal. The city itself was then swallowed in a never ending sea of light brown sand. They passed through a cloud or two, then there was only a feint blue glow separating them and the blackness of the void. Gradually, the engine's thunder grew quieter and quieter until it became little more than a background hum. He figured they were now in orbit. His necklace floated in front of his eyes before the artificial gravity kicked in. When it did, he threw his hands out in front of him.

He barely made it to the trash bin. He could hear her laugh very clearly.

"We all have a first time," the guy in the seat closest to him said. "You'll get used to it by the time we reach _Scaffold_."

"Hope so," he replied wiping his mouth.

"The name's Johan of the Nabaal. John works too."

"Mark Soban." I took the time to look back at the planet. I didn't regret it, the view was unforgettable. For millennia Kushan kind thought of Kharak as a hostile wasteland. A hell to endure for past sins. From where he stood he saw the true beauty it had to offer.

"That's another thing we all get the first time around. It's surprising, right?"

"An understatement." Long white cloud bands covered the cream colored deserts with the blue Majiirian to the South. Northern seas were visible as well, but not as magnificent. He captured it with his phone's camera. He had to make it last.

There was a while before arrival, so John moved back to where they were sitting to get acquainted. He was a captain in rank, he would be commanding either a resource ship or any other support vessel assigned to him. His entire family was on the third Cryogenic tray. He explained that he wasn't staying for the journey. He had a life back home he cared too much to give up.

"I understand that, the only way I would go along is if every member of my family could come too."

"I thought candidates were chosen by lottery?" Isel said.

"Not all. I shouldn't be saying this, but the Sleepers are specifically chosen candidates. The best and brightest of our people, all of them younger than thirty."

"I'm not sure if I should feel upset or flattered," she replied. "Why hasn't Mark been asked, then?"

"I was. I declined."

ERIC

He set his bag of newly bought appliances down inside his assigned room. Simple, small, empty. Larger than the one he was given on _Scaffold_. No viewport, but the lobby down the hall had a large one. He had grown used to the staleness of space life. The grey walls, the odorless air, the fluorescent light bands, he felt at home. He decided that was likely because he had no idea what home was supposed to feel like.

He went for a walk closing the door behind him. The lobby area was empty. Couches lined the walls. Kharak outside interested him more than the interior decor. A sandstorm was rolling in, one that may last for days. He also saw a glimmer approaching the station. The last crew transport. He knew it made takeoff that morning.

He got a sudden rush of excitement as thoughts of the time ahead rushed through his mind. He saw a departure from one life and the beginning of a new one. One not stricken by poverty and suffering. No more war. Now, he is an equal among the _Mothership_ crew. They may forget the past along with him once they reach the mythical homeworld of the ancestors. No longer a dirty Gaalsien, he was now a Kushan. No, a Hiigaran.

His daydreaming was a reminder he had not slept for nearly a whole day. He decided to get some before launch.

MARK

"We made it," John said. The station was a monstrous structure kilometers long and tall. Mark saw silhouettes of people behind glass walls. As the ship turned in for docking, he saw Kharak one last time. Not as stunning as earlier, a sandstorm blew in from the Southeast.

The ship came to a halt. The engines went quiet and the captain spoke. "We have docked and will be opening the airlocks. Prepare to board. Best of luck."

They made their way off the ship and onto the metal floor. People were rushing to get by everywhere. They made their way into the crowd to the docking arms. As the crowd became less chaotic it was clear where they were supposed to go. They followed along easy enough.

I gave my blue ticket to the woman behind the desk and was let through to a long windowed walkway. "Whoa," Isel said joining me. Looking out, we could barely make out the top or the bottom of the ship we were about to board. "It's so big!"

"Mark!" I heard someone yell when we entered a large room on the other end. I looked, but didn't believe who I saw. He nearly tackled me to the floor in a hug. "It's so good to see you! It's been what, three years now?"

"Hi Jay, something like that, what've you been up to? There's so much catching up to do."

"Well, we'll have plenty of time on the journey. Me, I have a job up here. Salvager pilot."

"That's nice to hear," I said. "Thing is though, I'm not going. I'm only here to test out the fighters." He looked disappointed hearing that, but he understood.

"Well, it's good to see you anyway." Jay was an orphan. He had no known relatives except for one on the _Khar-Selim_ who only contacted him halfway through it's ten year journey. Mark found his father, Jay didn't. He could understand how important this jump was for him.

"Feel free to introduce us any time," Isel said.

"Isabella Manaan, a real pain in the ass. She never shuts up." He got a glare from that, but ignored it. "Johan Nabaal, an eventual ship captain. And this here is one of my oldest friends, Jasiid. Corvette pilot."

"We went to flight academy together. I moved on to larger crafts while he stuck with fighters. We eventually drifted farther apart than I would have liked."

"We're all headed the same way, so let's walk," John said.

"So, you testing out the fighters too?" Jay asked breaking the silence that came as we walked.

"Yeah, I'd like to see if space fighters are easier than jets. Some say it is but I wanna be the judge."

They arrived at a lobby area where we took a break. Just in time too, launch was in ten minutes. Couches lined the walls and Kharak could be seen outside the one large viewport. On the opposing wall, a blue wing crest was painted taking up the whole wall. The symbol of Hiigara.

They waited, and he heard the voice. Familiar, but older than he remembered. "This is Fleet Command reporting _Mothership_ prelaunch status."


	4. Chapter 4: Look Alive, Sunshine

"I apologize for the wait on this chapter, important family matters came up. Should be another one posted later tonight or early tomorrow. It'll be a longer one."

* * *

MARK

"Command online. Resourcing online. Construction online. Cryogenic subsections A through J online. K through S online. _Scaffold_ control, standby for alignment." Her voice echoed through the ship. He imagines thousands standing like his small group anxious and awaiting the historic first step towards their interstellar mission. He had to be snapped out of it by the youngest of their group, her voice impossible to ignore.

"Hey, we gotta head down below!"

"Uh, right! Coming!"

The elevator brought them to an upper level. A blinding aqua light flooded the deck but their eyes soon adjusted. A row of fighters hung in the docking racks ahead and a small group of people were gathered nearby.

"Nice of you to finally join us," said the older-looking man. "Mark Soban, I presume?"

"Yeah, I mean yes sir, reporting in for fighter testing." He detested formalities.

"Knew it, you're a younger version of your father, for sure. Captain Leonard Nabaal, to you." His focus shifted back to the entire group. "I am Strike Command aboard this ship and thus the highest ranking officer as far as you're all concerned. I take care of my pilots, be they Soban elite or Gaalsien strays. You're all the same to me. Because I care so much, I'll go over a few things before you get started. This isn't the air force. Remember that."

"The _Mothership_ has cleared the _Scaffold_. We are away." Karan's voice chimed in over his but he continued immediately afterward.

"One, listen to fleet command. No questions asked. She's a lot smarter than you are, and you'd better accept that early on because it's her strategizing that keeps you alive. Two, only launch with a green light. If you don't, the energy field keeping the air in will fry your ship. Three, don't wander off. We don't have salvagers to spare to fetch your sorry ass. Lastly, well, try not to get killed. Try not to get yourself killed. We have no way to know what we'll be expecting on our journey."

Isel nudged my shoulder and whispered to me. "I bet he rehearses that before bed."

"And when I wake up. Your name is?" She was immobilized, as was Mark. They were both sure he couldn't have heard that.

"I-Isabella Manaan, sir. I must say, your hearing is flawless for someone of your—" she paused, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"What, age? I may be balding but I'm still in my prime, little girl." The group chuckled.

"Well, I won't be making that mistake again," she said laughing nervously.

"Alright enough of this. Go find your ships. Flight suits are in the lockers beside the ladders. Gear up and get off my deck." The two of them ran ahead of the group, primarily to get far from captain Leonard.

"That guy's intense," she said.

"I think you'd better get on his good side fast."

"Yessir!" She ran to the first fighter in line. He took the one beside hers.

The flight suits were easily put on, they vacuum sealed themselves fitting comfortably to any size. The helmets were simple fighter jet helmets, the kind he was used to. Climbing the ladder felt familiar enough, when he unlocked the hatch and saw the cockpit he smirked. "I guess they decided to go old fashioned," he said.

"Sure did. This is ridiculous, it'll be a blast!"

The controls were identical to the jet fighters he'd used before. The few differences were a couple small screens showing sensors information. four colored buttons were in place for aggressive, neutral, evasive and passive tactical presets. From what he could gather it routed power differently to weapons and engines. He started it up, and there began the differences. No engine he'd flown in front of sounded like that rough droning hum. His suit buckled into the seat automatically and the hatch closed. Like the newer fighter models, the head-up display was built into the windshield's glass acting as a screen.

The light turned green, time to think was over. He pulled on the throttle and shot forward when the clamps released. He dove down the hangar and flew out the opening into the void. He took a quick glance at the planet. The southern hemisphere was now covered in a sandstorm.

"Anyone else here above rank six?" he asked. No one answered. "Alright then. Fall into delta formation. Isel, on my right."

"Roger," she said. The other five listened as well, being unsure who to take orders from.

Mark found he could rename specific ships on the HUD. He entered Isel's name above her ship. He tinkered with the other controls for a bit while waiting for orders. They appeared on one of the two monitors in the dash. They were given orders to fire on target drones while in formation. "Well, we have our orders. Let's test these babies out," he said, other pilots chimed in sharing his enthusiasm.

The drones came into view. The HUD displayed red pentagons around them. When in firing range, the crosshairs lined up visibly easier with the tactical overlay than blind shooting at the tiny orange specs. He opened fire and within seconds it flashed out of existence, seeing three others die off too. He ordered to pull up to start the next pass.

"The fun thing about space is that up is wherever you want it to be," Isel said barrel rolling.

"I guess they really do handle easier than jets, go figure."

The other five took no time to take care of. After the last was finished off they were given new coordinates. He changed course for the blip on the sensors monitor. Intel gave new orders.

"Same as before but now set to aggressive tactics preset. Also, formation is optional. Have fun." Three of them broke off in different directions. Sixteen drones this round. "I have centre left, first row. You take the one beside it."

"Got it," she replied. Isel stuck beside him. They both opened fire and took care of the targets. On their next pass they did the same but got two each.

He got a direct hit on another one and flew through its debris.

"All done here, let's go back to base."

"What's your count? I'm at four," she said.

"Six, I think. Wasn't keeping track."

As the _Mothership_ came into view he saw a salvager launch from the hangar. They were guided into the hangar towards one of the central decks two at a time. He and Isel took the first entrance, landing as smooth as they could having never piloted a ship of that sort before. They got out and immediately after they got on the deck the ships were towed away to a conveyor belt on the wall.

"Oh, so that's how they do it." He wasn't sure. The next two fighters landed rougher than they did. Getting out of there appeared to be a good idea. They put their helmets and uniforms in a bin and headed for the elevator before risking being squashed.

* * *

ERIC

The fighter trials were announced to have completed successfully. He couldn't see from the lobby, but announcements were made periodically. He sat in silence watching the sandstorm on Kharak cover more and more land. Weather reports from the surface announced it may be one of the worst in three years. He bet his kin enjoyed this, they'd claim it to be Sajuuk warning them to cease what they were up to and return to the sands. Of course, all but Tiir would notice it. The shining gem of all cities, protected from the sand. He viewed progress as a good thing, as opposed to most Gaalsien.

His silence was interrupted by two people entering the room, one obnoxious little girl and another he recognized immediately. I stood up and began to walk away.

"Hey, you don't have to leave, we were only passing through," he said. He ignored him and continued on. "I'm confused."

"Why you gotta be such an ass, man?" Isel yelled.

He stopped. "What have I to say to the murderer's bastard?" He left them speechless.

Walking back to his room he questioned if he should have been that harsh. He couldn't blame Mark for his father's doings. He got frustrated at himself now too. He had spent years preparing fighter jets for launch. He refueled and reloaded crafts that, at the time unaware of it, would go on to bomb villages. He even flew in them a few times to test the systems. He contributed to terrorism at age eight and didn't have any idea until four years later. How could he possibly blame Mark? Perhaps he envied him, his life, how he has access to so much when he had so little.

He dreamed of flying, but who would allow it knowing he was Gaalsien? Should he fake being Manaani? It could work, but his secret would come out eventually. No, he thought, he had to gain acknowledgement as himself. He cringed at the thought. He put the thought out of his mind for the time being.

Once in the room he turned on his desk lamp and opened the drawer. He began to write. He had bought paper and pens at a shop a few decks below. He figured there was plenty of time on this trip before any work was assigned to him, giving plenty of writing time.

He had scribbles of ideas in his head, he sometimes wrote poems but most turned out more boring than sad. Fiction was his preference but inspiration came in short-lived bursts. He had a half-completed novel that was a collection of short stories surrounding the first inhabitants of Khar-Toba. His fellow Gaalsien didn't take kindly to his blasphemous imaginings of times long thought of as sacred and legendary.

He had written a dozen chapters on a boy who grew up in a war zone but abandoned it deciding it was too autobiographical.

He began a new project. A story not about him, but about everyone. Not in the past but a story to be made out in the present. There would be a long journey ahead of him. The Kushan's second great cosmic escapade, the Exile's Return. He liked the ring to it.

* * *

MARK

"I'm not sure what that guy's problem was," she said sitting on her bed. Mark had nowhere to be so he followed her for the time being.

"I think he was Gaalsien, actually."

"What, no way. What Gaalsien would join the crew. Unless…"

"Doubt it, but it's worth reporting on anyway to be sure," he said.

"Here, use this." He used her cellphone to call security.

"Yes, hello my name is Mark Soban and I think I saw a Gaalsien on my level. Oh, I see. Eric. Thanks, I thought it might have been suspicious. No problem." He was told a maintenance member was of Gaalsien descent on his level. It was nothing to be concerned over.

She yawned and lied back. "Long day so far," he commented sitting on the chair by the desk. He checked his watch, it was now past three in the afternoon Tiir time.

"Hyperspace module fully charged. I am ready to initiate the quantum wave generator on your mark. Good luck everyone," Command said.

"All sections have reported in. Trigger the hyperdrive at your discretion," responded _Scaffold_ control.

"Stop arguing over who goes first and jump us," Isel groaned.

Moments later he felt an odd sensation pass through him. "Hey you, get up. I'm hungry."

"But moving."

"I don't need to stick around you, you know. Jay's surely around here somewhere."

"Fine, gimme a minute. Get outa my room so I can take a piss in peace," she said. He hurried out not to prolong the awkwardness.

_There's something wrong with that one_, he though wandering back to the lobby. Kharak was no longer in view.


	5. Chapter 5: Learn to Fly

MARK

The cafeteria was packed with people. Jay met up with the two of them after a short time. "Did you find out who he was?" he asked, Isel had finished explaining the ordeal from earlier that afternoon. Mark let her do the talking, it wasn't as if she minded.

"Yeah, Mark called security to be cautious. Don't want some terrorist blowing a hole in the ship or anything. Some Eric Gaalsien."

"Hey, I met that guy. He didn't come off as mean to me, I ran into him being thrown to the ground by some Siidim kid."

"He has something against my father, but what Gaalsien wouldn't?" he said.

"He mentioned something about growing up in Saju-ka with an excavation team turned rebels."

"I think I remember my father telling me about that once. Damn, no wonder." He thought of the temple caving in on whoever was still inside. The uncomfortable flip side of his father's victories were nothing new to him. His father never was to him the great war hero the world thought he was. He's seen him late at night, glass half full and unable to sleep. Markus the Great had never felt too 'great' about his battles. Especially after his wingman was shot down. His wingman being his wife, Mark's mother who he never met. Markus' tactics became more violent and cruel after that.

"How long until arrival?" Isel asked.

"Three more minutes should do it, best to be getting going," Jay answered.

He parted ways with the two fighter jockeys at the elevators. He had no specific ship yet. He would be given the third salvage corvette to pilot.

The elevator door opened to the same blinding aqua. The group gathered again appeared to be waiting on them. "Took you lone enough," captain Leonard said. "You both scored highest on the target drone trials, therefore you're both first picks for the new models." In addition to the seven Arrow scouts that were there before, two larger ships were in the racks. "The Blade mark five interceptor. Not as fast as an Arrow but double the firepower and twice the fuel tank."

"You say that like there's an actual enemy to fight," Isel said. The captain's face didn't lighten up. "Right?" She was uncertain now, as were the others.

"If you'd arrived here with the rest on schedule you'd have been briefed. The support ship hasn't responded to any of our hails. First Command thought it was a miscalculation in the jump, but we're in the right spot. It's not. At this point, we have no idea what to think. It could be off course, they could think we're early. It's been a decade, after all. We'll know for certain soon enough." He felt uneasy about the news. The mission's planning stretches back generations. There wasn't possibly a miscalculation. "Enough, into your ships! I'll see you when you get back so I can get a report on their handling."

They all left for their ships. Once in the cockpit he noticed a few differences from the scout. Most noticeable was how cramped it felt. There were more controls on the dash and a third monitor. He didn't bother learning all the extra systems just yet. Most were useless for his purposes. There was also the inclusion of a red eject and destruct option, he noted to avoid that.

The light flashed green, he unclipped. When out the hangar he took a look around. The galactic band could be seen ahead, the sun behind. The asteroid belt was cluttered with boulders and dust clouds. They lined up in parade formation. Three scouts branched off to escort the resource collector.

"So what's up, anyway? I missed something," Isel said.

"We might be an AU off course, in which case we make a smaller jump—" the pilot was cut off by a blip on the sensors.

"We have picked up the _Khar-Selim_'s automated beacon," was all the objectives display told them. A probe flew out the hangar door and it headed to investigate.

He opened a private channel up to Isel. "Hey, so it looks like your training might have to wait," he said.

"Yeah, I figured." Her voice wavered confirming her uneasiness.

"Listen, if anything does so happen to show up…"

"On your right, got it. Don't have to tell me twice. I'm rash not stupid."

They waited for the small green dot to reach the target area. "The _Khar-Selim_ has been destroyed." The short sentence seemed unreal to him.

"Is anyone else reading this?" a pilot asked.

"I can't believe it!"

"But how? What could destroy a ship that size?"

"An asteroid, maybe?" Isel added in.

"They've got weapons to deal with those and towing ships for the bigger ones," he replied. The center monitor displayed what they refused to believe. A massive wreckage in the form of the support ship. A gas cloud was surrounding it and there were bullet holes in the sides as large as fighters.

"Incoming targets, fleet." Leonard chimed in to the chatter. He glanced at the sensors and sure enough small red dots appeared from the upper left.

"Keep it together, guys. Set to evasive tactics and get into delta formation behind me." He took the lead with no trouble from the rest. All the objectives monitor gave as orders was protect the _Mothership_.

"S-so do we know who it is?" Isel asked.

"Doubt it. Curious, how many of you have seen actual combat?" Silence. "Alright, do as I do. Don't break formation and get out of weapons trajectories. We'll make it home alive." He was in no position to make promises, but it kept them from panicking. They followed behind him moving towards the targets.

"Our first encounter with an alien race and they turn out to be hostile. Great," she complained.

The squadron gained speed until making contact with the enemy. They were under heavy gunfire, but they let off their own rounds back. One scout exploded in a flash, but two enemy fighters were also taken out. Another was hit by debris. We spread out and reformed for our next pass. "Fire on the the lead three only, it'll break their formation."

They did so, and got two more. Two then locked on to him, chasing him down. He spun around and set to aggressive opening fire. The first blew up but he took off before getting the second. He turned the ship so the bottom alone took damage. He could hear the light tick of the rounds hitting the hull. The noise stopped."

"Yeah! Got 'em!" Isel had his back.

"We're getting to spread out. Doesn't help that they're fighting dirty. They're slower but have heavier armor than we do."

"Roger, squad leader. Sending out two heavy corvettes to assist in crowd control," Leonard answered. Leonard had been quiet to him, he assumed he was busy keeping the scout pilots alive and trusted his skill.

He ordered the damaged scouts to go dock with a nearby repair corvette that had launched with the two Hammers. The corvettes rushed in and took aim. One by one the enemy ships exploded. These were not drones, he reminded himself. There were pilots in those ships. They had no idea what the enemy's face looked like.

They were outnumbered ten to one, even with the four interceptors that launched. He had doubt in their ability to counter this, but let that thought pass. It would end soon enough one way or another.

"Is it over?" Isel asked.

"I think they're regrouping. We should take this chance to dock and refuel," he suggested. The others followed. The refuel stations were on the deck immediately within the hangar. I got clamped in and the deck teams got to work. The ship was fueled and the armor was sprayed with sealant to patch the holes. When I was green to launch, the clamps fired my ship out the door on a magnetic rail. When out, I saw a salvager moving in on one of the enemy fighters but it self-destructed.

When my squadron joined me, now made up mostly of interceptors, we were given orders to guard the salvager as it made its approach to _Khar-Selim_. A second squadron joined mine. It was vital to get the data.

"How are there so many of them?" a pilot asked.

"My guess is on a carrier hiding somewhere in the dust," he replied. Their approach took five minutes but no enemies appeared. The Porter corvette's magnetic grapples hooked onto the wreckage. The airlock opened and an orange figure stepped out. He had a thruster pack on and used it to maneuver himself to an entrance. "Stay sharp," he reminded. No contacts. Not long after, the man returned holding a box half his size. Once inside, the group turned back. Not long after, contacts began closing in two at a time. They made no attempt to fully engage. This went on for a minute.

"Enemy units closing in with _Mothership_," Command alerted.

"Distractions," Isel said.

"Thought so. Squad two, head on home. We'll take care of this."

"Roger."

To the starboard our collector was guarded by a single scout. The enemy appeared to ignore the resourcing operations.

"They're like pirates," Isel said. He thought it was a ridiculous comparison until he paid attention to their behavior. Their aim was poor even when in combat and when approaching they sometimes bumped into each other. Their formations were sloppy and some ships looked upon closer observation to be made out of parts from several different models.

"Pick them off until the corvette docks. After that we'll give a hand to the guard around the research ship."

Joining the main fight once the salvager was docking, their remaining two wingmen were hit with a missile barrage. One ship was in critical condition and the other was worse off.

"Interceptor down!" The pilot didn't eject in time.

"Are you alright?" he said to the other.

"I'm heading back to dock. Shit's fried, I'm useless now." The two of them were on their own.

"Mark, there's too many," she was afraid. That was reasonable. He was sure if the adrenaline that comes with taking command was absent he would be too. Glancing at the sensors monitor was a sobering decision. Many red, few green. And the red were closing in on them.

"I know, we can still make it."

"Mark, there's a swarm heading your way," Leonard said.

"I know, but if we dock they'll pick off our research division. They're more important than a couple of pilots," he said.

"I'll get reinforcements out to you soon, hang in there."

They arrived. Evasive tactics were helping, and he dodged their shots well enough for the time being. Isel was keeping up but was taking on more followers than him, they were aiming for the easiest target. "If you leave now one of us might make it," she said.

"Fuck that, I'm not leaving you here to die. Dirty bastards!" He set to aggressive and fired on the lead interceptor following her. It exploded damaging the two behind. He took them out without much of a problem. He switched back into evasive and rolled out of a sea of weapon fire.

"Thanks," she said. Speeding away from her startled pursuers.

"Any time. Hey Leo, any day now!" As he said this, three ships behind him were destroyed. The Hammers arrived to help thin the swarm.

"You're a couple of nutjobs, you know that?" the ship's captain said. Moments later two interceptor squadrons joined in taking care of the interceptors that the corvette's cannons couldn't track.

"Let's land these scraps." He agreed. He'd had enough for one day. The enemy ships were retreating.

"Interceptor nine, back in formation!" Leo shouted over the intercom.

"I see something. It's a ship! Huge! Bigger than a Nabaal carrier!" He knew how big those were. He'd landed on several before. "Wait, it's doing something. Danger! Beam weapons, Sajuuk have mer—" the voice cut out. We saw what he was talking about. A large light brown hulk. It fired blue beams of some sort out the front end. The enemy was still retreating. The battle was over.

Once the ship landed on the repair deck and all systems shut down, he opened the hatch but didn't climb out right away. "You saved me today," he said thanking it. He relaxed into his seat and took a deep breath. He was alive. His father would be proud. So would Valerie. After changing out of his uniform, he found Isel lying on the deck beside her ship. "You okay?"

"Solid ground is great. Don't care that it's metal and floating in space, it's solid and I like it."

"We're lucky." He held out his hand to her to help her up. When she stood up she hugged him tight. She was shaking and wouldn't ease up. "You're alright now, we lived. You did great out there."

"You saved me, thank you." She let go and ran off down the hangar. She was a tough girl, but there were a dozen moments she could have died in the past hour and she knew that. He decided to let her be for now. He had his own concerns.

On his way to the elevator, Captain Leonard stopped him. "Is your friend okay, she was crying when the elevator opened."

"Well, she almost died a lot, she's never been in combat, we encountered aliens, and we have no idea what's even happening so you tell me."

"You did well out there so I'm not here to argue. I'll get a report on the ships from her later. We fear there are more enemies in the system. We don't know yet. We're returning to Kharak immediately."

"Or maybe the legends of the Gaalsien were true, the _Khar-Selim_ was leaving the system so it was destroyed." He liked that explanation more.

"Listen, Mark. Your father was an old friend of mine. I'm glad you were here today. You've got his blood in you, that's certain." He recognized him now, it had been bugging him earlier. He was one of the two men in a frame on his father's living room wall. "You're bravery can get you promoted a rank, maybe two."

"I did it for her. She's just a kid. I don't give a damn about rank, it means nothing here. She's a rank six and has never been in a single dogfight. If this convoy is to survive you'll need to train them daily. I felt like I was leading a bunch of children into a slaughter!" The captain was silent.

"I know. I'm sorry. We didn't expect this kind of confrontation within our own star system."

"That's what you're not seeing. It's not our system, Hiigara is. I'm starting to think there's truth to the legends now and it terrifies me. I'm asking you, captain, what kind of monstrous power can exile an entire world of people across the galaxy? You _really_ don't want to be unprepared again." He began to walk to the elevator.

"Mark," he stopped him. "So you're aware, my nephew was your wingman who died form missiles. Half our interceptors had faulty ejection wiring." He couldn't say anything more about it. "Dismissed."

He wanted to be home. He wanted his sandstone hut and he wanted to see Valerie. The day had been too long. He felt the _Mothership_ slip into hyperspace. He ran into the Gaalsien in the halls looking for a place to sit and think.

"Hey, Mark, I was too harsh on you earlier."

"I wouldn't blame you if I could." He didn't stop to talk, he needed to be alone.


	6. Chapter 6: The Sand will Turn to Glass

"If you feel like chatting about homeworld / have your own fanfic ideas / have various comments about typos or other questions / really whatever you want it to be, I have a forum now. Dedicated to HW fanfiction. This one has it's own discussion thread but feel free to make your own. Trying to make a home for us now that relicnews forums aren't relevant to homeworld anymore. Ouf, that was a mouthful. Anyway, if so go ahead and introduce yourselves. If not, have a good read anyway." -KLM

* * *

ERIC

He hadn't been able to think straight throughout the past hour; he assumed many felt the same. It was hard to believe in coincidence when his entire childhood he knew the tales. "Those who leave before the penance paid be punished by he who shapes what is." He spent many days in Saju-ka's libraries reading from morning to afternoon, the immersive stories surrounding the first city and it's eventual downfall followed by the first people's migration north.

The lobby's screen flicked on, returning him to the moment. "A captured enemy corvette has given us insight into the alien menace we faced today. After careful interrogations, we discovered they are called the Turanic Raiders. They were hired to patrol the edges of this system to ensure no craft leaves. They suspected these were the intentions of the _Khar-Selim_ and destroyed it. When the corvette-class ship was opened, a liquid solution poured out. We assume it's their natural environment. The creature survived for only twenty minutes before suffocating." An image of the pilot appeared beside the reporter. Tall, pale white skin, black eyes, no hair and what he could compare to gills under the chin. She continued, "We will now show recordings recovered from the _Khar-Selim_'s black box. Playing last entry."

The screen showed only an audio wave "What do you mean you detect a hyperspace entry? The _Mothership_ isn't due for—"

"Sir, I have multiple contacts on closing vectors. Unknown profiles. No recognition codes. Uh, they're not ours."

"Well, if they're not ours, who the hell are they?"

"Sir, they're coming in fast. Check. Incoming fire, we are under attack! They're getting through! Preaches across all decks, hull integrity failing!"

"_Khar-Selim _to _Mothership_! If you are receiving, abort hyperdrive test. Repeat: abort hyperdrive test!" Only static followed.

The reporter returned to the screen. "It appears we do have an enemy out there, it is no longer myth. With the support ship gone we will return to _Scaffold_ for repairs and sub-light engine tuning. This is Natalia Kaalel signing off."

Eric was convinced these enemies controlling the pirates were the same as those of the legends. A great evil, one that drove them from paradise to the world of their penance. It was the last part, now, that he couldn't stop thinking of. The word was specific. A voluntary punishment. A punishment for what? That he did not know. Did it mean their ancestors committed some kind of crime long ago? What crime was so terrible to have them removed of their homeworld?

His concentration was broken as the person who helped him up when he boarded from _Scaffold_, Jay as he remembered, walked in with the girl Mark had been with earlier. "I heard you had a run in with my friend," he said.

He stood, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. "It's not important. I ran into him a while ago again to apologize but he rushed off alone." The girl was concerned.

"He'll be back. It's how he deals with stress," Jay said.

"It's been a shit day. I'm all for a verbal cease fire," the girl said. "Isabella Manaan. I prefer Isel though, it's shorter and sounds kinda exotic."

"Agreed," he said following a brief exchange of laughs.

The loudspeaker alerted that they would arrive at Kharak in half a minute. "Kharak's defenses have been notified, let's hope it was in time."

* * *

MARK

When returning to the floor's lounge his friends and Eric were talking among themselves but before he could join the conversation the _Mothership_ dropped from hyperspace. He approached the window looking at a sight none of them could believe or even understand. They were immobile in a stunned quiet, unable to make sense of the scene before them. It was Karan who broke the silence.

"No one's left. Everything's gone! Kharak is burning." The last three words confirmed what none of them wanted to. Mark's knees went weak and he fell to the metal floor.

The screen flashed on to update the fleet. "Kharak is being consumed by a firestorm. _Scaffold_ station has been destroyed. All orbital facilities destroyed. There's a significant debris ring in low Kharak orbit." She had to pause and wipe her eyes. She continued, but her voice wavered. "We are receiving no communications from anywhere in the system. Not even beacons. All crew members are to report to action stations." Before the screen went black she began to cry.

As did Mark. Tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the horror. The other three ran for the elevators. He couldn't move. He couldn't even blink.

"Mark, let's go!" he heard Isel shout. The others went ahead as she ran back. He didn't register her shaking him. His thoughts jumped from person to person, all the ones he knew and loved, dead. His father, Valerie, his fellow pilots, the friends he had in Tiir. All gone. All dead. "Mark!" She smacked his back hard. He looked at her but couldn't focus past the tears. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of a thing to say. "Hey, we'll have time to feel later. We have a job to do."

"As a Soban I am obligated to say my job ended the moment we dropped from hyperspace. We fight until our contract has ended then we go home. I… I have no home to go back to." Nausea came over him speaking those words.

"Sobani stubbornness, I know of it. Pilot! New orders. Defend the _Mothership_." She held out her hand to help him up. There was no other option. His father would be ashamed of him if he crawled to a dark corner alone as he wanted to do so badly just then. "We all had families down there. I know you're feeling this more than the rest of us but we have to fight. We're all that's left." He knew she was right. He was numb through his whole body, but he took her hand.

On the elevator ride up, he tried to calm himself. He needed to focus.

"Wait, on the maintenance frequency. I'm getting a signal from the Cryo Trays in orbit. One of them is suffering a major malfunction. The Trays are under attack."

The elevator stopped and they ran out the doors to their ships. Less than a minute passed and they launched to join the others. The targets were larger crafts with heavier weapons. Frigate class. "This is Mark Soban reporting in. All fighters set to evasive tactics and swarm the enemy. Draw as much fire from the trays as possible." Each tray was important, housing a hundred thousand people in stasis. Now the last of their race. They passed a group of salvagers. He knew Jay would be piloting one but had no way of knowing which. The other pilots were following his orders and it was working. Only the one ship continued to fire on the Tray, the rest tried to defend themselves.

Two salvagers moved in for their approach on the first frigate guarded by repair corvettes. The enemy ships turned to fire on them but the swarm blocked most of the shots. They were too slow to lock on and were firing aimlessly into the storm.

"Ship disabled, bringing it in." The tray was safe. The other salvage corvettes moved in to collect the Trays starting with the damaged one.

"Requesting salvage teams to collect the enemy ships before the intact trays. We'll be low on fuel if we have to keep this up," he said.

"Sounds like a plan, Mark." He changed the name of Jay's corvette and watched as it made an approach with another on one of the enemy ships. They took hits but the repair ships countered what damage their cannons could make.

Another shot fired. A repair corvette exploded taking out an interceptor with it and damaging a few more. He had an idea. He broke formation and fired on a front cannon.

"Mark, get back in formation!" he heard Isel yell. The frigate fired, taking out its own weapons. "On second thought, do what he just did." A few fighters did the same and it gave similar results. The ships were defenseless. The fighters could regroup without worrying about enemies damaging the trays.

hey had won, and he kept his focus when only minutes before he thought there was no saving his mind from the devastating shock.

"We're done here, head on home and let the vettes clean up," Leonard said. I saw one of the enemy ships exiting the hangar and another move in to dock. The frigates were guided to the platform bridging the main hangar side with the large bay on the other out of the way from fighter docking pads. Upon his approach he could see a tray being loaded on the other side into the capital hangar. He also saw the security force moving people off the enemy craft at gunpoint.

He met up with Isel when landed. "How're you holding up?" she asked.

He took a moment to think about an answer. "I'll survive."

A screen on the hangar wall lit up. The same reporter was back. "All hostile vessels captured successfully. Interrogations are underway this very moment. They appear identical to us physiologically. We are unsure as to the significance of this. We have also saved three stranded pilots in low orbit, none of which, however, are our hero Markus Soban. They reported him to have been leading the assault but are not ready to recount the details at this time." Mark had to sit down. She joined him. "Intelligence has also released footage of the flight recordings to us. Beware that the contents are graphical and involve the destruction of Kharak. Standby for playback."

A small probe craft approached _Scaffold_ station. Two salvagers launched but were destroyed. A group of nine yellow and red striped fighters flew by. A large carrier ship similar in size to the Turanic one encountered earlier was launching fighters. It was an entire fleet. The carrier was surrounded by other ships varying in size, some corvettes others larger than frigates. Missiles from the planet destroyed some frigates but left the larger ones unaffected. "Prepare for immediate surface bombardment." He was unable to turn away. A squad of fighters then launched from _Scaffold_.

"Markus, watch out! Yeah, got 'em." The enemy must have tapped into their communications. A group of enemy fighters flew up the station's interior firing on the fuel tanks. _Scaffold_ then erupted into a flaming wreckage. An explosion blinded the camera and all that was left was charred debris. The video ended shortly after bombs hit the planet's surface.

"Analysis of the flight recordings show that the Kharak missile defense systems heavily damaged the attacking fleet. However, we have concluded that at present, they can still easily defeat us. We have therefore plotted a course to a deep space asteroid belt. There we can hide and prepare our fleet for an assault. Our research division has finished analyzing the captured frigate. We have reverse engineered the drive technology and developed two new ships. Plans for a third are underway but will require further research. All Cryogenic Trays have been loaded and the jump will begin shortly." The screen turned off.

He got up and walked to the elevators. Isel went after him. "He died defending his entire world." She was talking about his father.

"I know, It's just… You saw that firepower. Our world's best couldn't beat them. We're outmatched."

"This ship, it and it's crew are the best our world had. Now we're all there is and we'll have to make due."

"I'm not confident we can defeat them."

"Neither am I, but there's no other option. We beat them or we go extinct." He couldn't argue that.

The elevator ride was quiet. "You know, we've skipped out on debriefing twice now," she noted.

"I don't like it. You don't need to avoid it too."

"I don't like it either." The elevator stopped at their floor's lobby.

"Hyperspace module charged. There's nothing left for us here. Let's go." The voice on the loudspeaker had the same emotion they were all feeling. One of sorrow and defeat, of numbing sadness and disbelief.

He looked out the window one last time. "All of us stardust," he said.

"Burned into existence anew," she finished. An old scripture spoken after battle.

"I guess that's all."

"I guess so."

"Hyperspace initiated," Karan announced.

* * *

TRISTEN

She sat alone in a dark cell with steel walls, steel floors, and steel bars. She'd grown tired of steel long ago but it was all there was on the carrier. No others were locked up in her prison block and it had been a quiet past couple hours.

The doors then opened and a man was thrown into the cell next to hers. "You're lucky we still need information from you otherwise you'd be dead," a guard said walking off.

He laid there in his own blood, silent. She thought he might have passed out. She stood up to look over at him. "Who's there?" he called out. He was an older man, his beard greyed and was balding. His skin was a dark tan and his tone was one of defeat. There were bandages covering his eyes.

"The sight will come back after a few days. I assume you're one of the desert people," she said.

"Kushan," he responded sitting up against the cell wall. He had bruises all over his near-naked body. Well built for his age, but that didn't help him here.

"I'm so sorry for what was done to your people," she said hoping he wouldn't think of her as an enemy.

"Thank you. Do you have a name?"

"Tristen Alaikiir. I'm a pilot too. What's yours?"

"I don't need one anymore. Just call me old man," he said. He laughed but coughed hard after. "So why're you in here?"

"I refused to take part in genocide." She was not the only one who disagreed with the orders, but the only one willing to speak up about it. "And you, how'd you end up in here?"

"I saw _Scaffold_ get destroyed. I figured if I was gonna do any damage I'd crash my ship into the carrier's docking bay. My eject didn't work. It's for the best, I guess. Now I don't have to suffocate watching my world burn." The cloths were wet from blood and tears.

"Did you have any family?"

"A son. He was on the _Mothership_, though. He's a tough kid."

"Well, good news for you is the Turanics failed destroying the fleet in the system's outskirts." She saw him smile.

"Think they'll let me live if I ask nicely?" They both laughed.

"You should rest. They'll be coming for you when you wake." She felt sorry for this man. He lost his entire world and now couldn't see the face of the enemy who did it. He climbed clumsily into the bed taking her advice.

It was silent for the next hour. She listened to his pained breathing and stared at the metal ceiling running through the past day over and over.

She heard footsteps approaching again but only one set this time.

"Trix, what've you gotten yourself into this time?" It was her wingman. She had a love-hate kind of relationship with him, he always made dirty remarks about her, even after she kicked his ass for the third time. However, he was more attractive than most of the others on the ship. He was also the only one there for her when she heard of her parents' deaths. "You look like shit by the way."

"What do you want? I'm not to be released for another few days."

"My uncle's in charge of the prison block, remember? I could get you out if you do me a small favour." She knew the kind of favour he was asking, he often did so in front of others to embarrass her. She would still get together with him occasionally. She rolled her eyes.

"Jake, if I suck your dick will you leave me alone? I might bite it this time, though. It's been a bad day."

'Hah!" Apparently the old man was awake.

"For you, blondie, it'd be worth it."

"Pathetic. Go away pig," she grinned.

"Fine. I actually came to tell you that you've been taken off the strike force until we get to Hiigara. Captain's orders, nothing I could do to change his mind."

"What? That bastard!" She shot to her feet. "You tell that fucker I'll fight him for it. I can take him, the lazy shit probably hasn't worked out in a year and fucking every woman on the ship doesn't count."

"Vicious, that's why I like you. As much as you're a bitch to me on a daily basis, given I deserve most of it, I do have to give it to you. You're a far better pilot than I am. From what that guy's been bragging," he pointed to the old man, "I hope he reconsiders. I'd feel a lot more comfortable out there knowing my squad leader wasn't gonna be Derek."

She sighed lowering her head to the bars. "He's worse than _you_ are, what's the captain on?"

"I don't know, but when you see him next, please get him to reconsider." He put his hand through to stroked her hair. "Look, I don't agree with the shit they pulled either, but it's out of your hands. Please try to get back on the captain's good side."

"How do you propose I do that?"

"Do you need me to answer that?" he smirked.

"I'm not sleeping with him."

"Yeah, didn't think so," he laughed. "I'll let you rest. I'll be back to keep you up to speed."

"Thanks, Jake." She lied back down again. Creaks could be heard in the walls. The ship had taken a real beating.

"I'm not sure if you're into him or if you wanna kill him," the old man chimed in.

"A little of both, I guess."

"You're like my wife. And don't apologize, she's been gone for years."

She was glad to have met one of these Kushan. It made her decision feel even more justified. She closed her eyes and thought of home. She'd been away far too long. After a short while, she began to fall asleep putting an end to the terrible day.

* * *

MARK

He was given a room close to Isel's. There were plenty of rooms to accommodate the few hundred new passengers that had not originally planned to be on the voyage. There were many empty from the missing _Khar-Selim_ crew. He laid in bed trying to sleep and trying not to think of what had happened. Hours passed and sleep wouldn't come. He heard a light knock on his door. It was three in the morning. He figured not many would sleep well that night.

The door opened and she closed it behind her. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

"Sleep? Hah. I can't stop shaking, forget sleeping." He sat up and turned on the desk lamp.

"Come on, sit." She sat beside him. He put his hand on her shoulder, she was shaking like she said. "What's up?"

"Anxiety, mostly. I forgot my medication back in Tiir and haven't gone to the pharmacy yet." She held onto his hand looking down at the floor. "You saved me today. I doubt if I was out there alone I'd have lived."

"I owe you one too. When you ran back for me, well, I lost everything. I felt numb. I'm not sure what I would've done if I ran off alone." He met her eyes. A lighter hazel than his dark brown. Valerie's were the same. He looked away out of guilt. He was not ready to let go of her memory.

"I lost my mother. Not that she ever cared for me, but it's still sad. Another Manaan pilot that I knew was killed too."

"I gave Leo a good shout down earlier. I think we're gonna need to start teaching or something."

"Time to whip these rookies into shape," she joked. He felt her head on his shoulder. He brushed his hand through her short brown hair.

"I'm terrified, Mark. I won't show it but I am." He rubbed her back as she continued. "Our enemy has the power to light a planet on fire. We've left our star system behind and are now going into hiding to prepare for what? A counterattack? How can we pull that off?"

"Like you said earlier. I don't know, but we have to. There is no other option." She kissed him on the cheek and got up to leave.

"Thank you," she said closing the door. Not after long did he feel himself falling asleep. He couldn't tell if it was her clearing his mind or simply being able to talk to someone. Either way, he wanted nothing more than for the day to end.


	7. Chapter 7: Mark the Graves

MARK

It had been two days since the Kharak Genocide. Most of the fleet couldn't sleep well. Medication was only now being distributed to help and the effects still didn't show themselves in the faces of people in the mess hall that morning.

Jay thought it would be good to get everyone together for breakfast since they were all each other had now. They had most trouble finding out where Johan was staying. Bridge section, apparently.

"I've tasted a lot of horrible shit in the desert but this is by far the worst tasting thing I've ever eaten," said Isel.

"Right, you're a Manaan. I've been looking at what the crew's made up of. Many pilots from your clan on here," John said.

"I think I'm the only Soban pilot. I haven't met any at the briefings the past couple days," Mark added. After the first night following the disaster, Leonard called a gathering in the main hangar. He announced that training would begin in three days after the funeral ceremony. He thought it best to allow grieving time. Mark was in command of these sessions and Isel was to be his assistant.

"Do you have ideas for your speech?" Eric asked.

"None so far. I've barely started coming to terms with this and I'm supposed to make some inspirational speech."

Jay hit him on the shoulder. "Think positive, buddy! The entire fleet will be listening." Jay hadn't talked much about how he was handling it. He had one chance to meet some part of his family and it was taken from him. Mark knew him enough to know that he was repressing whatever pain he felt, still always smiling as if nothing bad has ever happened to him.

"Besides, people already know you thanks to your father, now you can maybe earn their respect for yourself," he said. "Also, quick question. Is the pilot training open to anyone or only those already registered as pilots?"

"I think pilots have priority but Leo'd have to be stupid to refuse newcomers," he said.

They continued to eat and talk about how they were doing, find out what they had in common. John's family had been in the attacked Tray. He was not sure what their status was, names weren't released yet.

"I've also been commissioned to command the first support frigate when we arrive at the asteroid vein. I'm excited about that but it means I won't see very much of you all on the trip."

Isel congratulated him in her usual childish manner making the group laugh. It was good to hear people laughing. Mark was not quite there yet.

"I apologize, but I really have to get to writing that speech. I'll see you guys before the ceremony." He smiled and left them to continue their conversation. He did have to do his speech but he also wanted time alone. Before going to his room he decided to wander the ship for a while.

The closer he got to the middle, the older everything looked. The walls were rusted and heavily bolted together instead of the sleek smooth walls on the outer sections where his room was. The lighting was a dim orange rather than fluorescent white. He imagined some areas had been built before his dad was born. Only days after launch and the ship was already a floating relic. He noticed a staleness in the air. He sighed and decided to head back.

* * *

TRISTEN

The guards brought him back to the cell. She woke up hearing them throw him to the ground. "You'll break eventually," the guard grunted. "And you, glad you're awake. The captain wants to see you. Get up."

She listened, wanting more than anything to walk around for a while. She looked down at the old man, bloody and beaten. He had lash marks across his back. The cell door opened up and she was led out. Not cuffed.

"Like you need 'em. So listen. Cap's in a pissy mood right now so I'd behave."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Apparently the imperial guard won't send support to us. We're low on rations since a missile hit one of the storage cells." She heard a roar from a deck below and the room shook sending them both to the ground. "What the hell?" Another shake brought down part of the ceiling on his head knocking him unconscious.

When getting back on her feet, she looked back at her cell. She decided she'd have better luck hiding from the captain than seeing him after whatever had just happened. She dragged the guard over to her cell and locked him in. As she was about to leave she heard the old man coughing. She couldn't in good conscious leave him there so she unlocked his cell and helped him to his feet.

"What's going on?" he asked stumbling along confused.

"I'm not sure, but we're getting out of here. I know a secret. The walls have hidden maintenance access halls. Mostly it's wiring and pipes, used for when the ship was being built." She knocked on each panel until she came on the hollow one. It took effort but she managed to get it to pop open. She led him inside and put the panel back in place behind her.

After ten minutes of crawling along, they found a ladder that led to a larger chamber, about the size of a prison cell. It was better than nothing, it'd work as their den.

"It's better than nothing. You'll stay up here for now." His wounds looked bad. "I'll be back with food and bandages. Keep quiet and you should be fine, no one ever checks these anymore."

"I'm a little exhausted, I think I'll sleep."

"Okay."

"And kid, thanks."

She snuck through the maintenance network to where she assumed was a medical supplies room. She lifted a ceiling tile and peeked in. Empty. She dropped to the floor being as quiet as she could. The cabinets, lucky for her, weren't locked. It had to be quick so nobody would see.

The cabinet wasn't locked, not surprising. She only needed two bottles. After finding them, she decided next was food. That wouldn't be as easy as food was probably being guarded due to supply shortages. She jumped from the table up to the ceiling vent, but got caught pulling herself up. Her arm slipped and she fell to the floor tearing her flight suit at the leg. A cry of pain couldn't be stopped and she hid once able to move. Her leg was torn and she was bleeding out.

She held the gash trying to keep quiet. The door opened and footsteps were heard approaching. "Trix? I've been looking for you if you're there."

"Ove here," she replied. Jake ran over to her but was shocked by the blood.

"Hold on, I'll find something." He ransacked the drawers and cupboards to find some gauze and medical tape, he also found a suture gun. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of paper towels. "Just lie down, I'll take care of it. Looks pretty bad."

"It feels pretty bad alright."

He went to work cleaning up the wound. A five inch vertical cut. "This is gonna hurt, probably a lot considering we're rushing it, so bite on this." He handed her the gauze roll and poured and cleaned out the wound a final time then used the gun to seal it up. She passed through the pain after a minute. "At least you picked the right room for this, so mind me asking what's going on?"

She couldn't lie to him after that, he'd possibly saved her from bleeding to death. It would also be useful to have someone to get news from. "I'm going into hiding in the maintenance crawls. There's a large enough room not too far from here. I have the Kushan with me. I felt too guilty to leave him there."

"So you are a traitor, then?" he was shocked.

"Calm down, Jake. We're the bad guys here not him. He's already lost enough. I'd rather kill him myself than let him get tortured any more."

"Alright, but if they find you, I know nothing of this. I'll keep you posted every now and then." He handed her phone back, she wasn't sure where he got it but remembered his uncle was head of security. She hugged him tight, grateful for helping her. He massaged her neck and kissed her forehead. "I rely on you too, you know. Who else would I pick on?"

She gave him a smile briefly before stepping back. "I'll have to get food tomorrow, I can't do much else today. Help me up."

"Sure thing."

Once up in the ventilation duct, she told him that she'd call if anything was needed. He closed the grate behind her and she headed back to the old man.

* * *

MARK

The blue lights of the hangar deck where now out save for a dim red glow from the resupply dock. A crowd gathered around a fire kept lit by fuel, as no wood was onboard. There was a podium in front where speakers said their words of kindness and read passages from the books of old. Grim and sorrowful faces were seen in most of those attending in person, and there were sure to be many others watching from their rooms.

Mark, he stood alone with the other few Sobani of the crew, most of them high ranking officials working on the bridge levels. He crossed eyes once with Jay's copilot but he looked away and paid him no further attention. He could not recognize any of the others, but many threw him glances of condolence. His father was a well known man and had been the Sa of the Soban following the passing of the previous in his old age.

His friends were all gathered with their respective clans, he saw Jay and John standing together. Isel stood with some of the other Manaan pilots. Eric, he stood out the most, being the only Gaalsien in attendance. After some time a Soban approached him asking if he felt like standing with them, as all are welcome with the red clan.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"Not much, I know what needs to be said. This crew needs spirit, they need a reason and hope to go with it."

"If you ever feel like writing a book I'll give you a hand," he said. He was only recently aware Eric wrote. He might have asked for an author's opinion on his speech were it not for his introversive behaviour these past couple days.

Mark was invited up to speak after captain Leo shared a few words. Staring out at the crowd felt less nerve racking than he'd expected. Then again, not all that many had their heads raised, or were watching the flames burn.

"I'm sure I need no introduction. You all know my name, mostly from my father's. You all know of him, but it's fairly within my reasoning to say I'm the only one who really knew him." He paused to see that he had the attention of many, confused looks came to him. "We've lost many, too many to name or even to count. Our families, our friends, the ones we loved dearly. We haven't only lost our people. As I stand here and as I've seen throughout the halls in all the faces I've seen, we've lost our spirit." He now had all the attention. "I lost my father, you lost your idol. A war hero, a man of unparalleled strength. But was he? The man you all know is little more than an image he chooses to show you. You see the victories while I see the sleepless nights bottle in hand and tears in eyes. This is not to say he was a weak man, he was the strongest man I've ever met, but not for winning dogfights or securing peace, but for taking on the responsibility since no one else did, to bear the guilt's weight for all the death he had brought.

"The point is, we're now the only one's available to hold on this burden. We decide the future of our clans. This is not about some fanatics launching missile threats from desert camps in the middle of nowhere," he saw Eric nod, "we are on a long journey to reclaim our rightful home, our original world.

"We are no longer the clans of Kharak. We must move from that and become greater. Kharak is destroyed and that's something we will eventually learn to cope with. For now we have one thing to give our focus, and that's these new enemies ahead. These Taiidan. The task is a frightening one, possibly even hopeless, but this is the only option. Don't ask if that's what Markus the Great would have done because he's not here and won't be coming back. To our fallen Kushan brothers and sisters, to those of us here today, and for whoever we encounter on our way. All of us stardust, burned into existence anew."

The pilots repeated the line and stomped the deck with each foot. The crowd applauded and he walked back to the other Sobani. Each clan now proceeded with their own customs and rituals. His clan's ritual required bloodletting. Each cut the clan crest into their palm and it was collected into a jar. Eric decided to pass on that, being not of their clan. "You can join anytime you like if you wish," a woman in her late twenties said.

"Mark, it isn't traditional, but would you do the honours of lighting the blend?" a thick bearded man said. Many others were nodding.

"But the Kiith'sa—"

"Was your father, the blood heir to Soban the Red. Lineage has not necessarily been of much importance, but we figured for this special occasion, having said such moving words, that you would be best fit."

"I don't know what to say, thank you."

"My name is Cromell. Your father was only Soban'sa for a short time, but he had been our friend for many years. He took little pride in his work with us, he did however take pride in you. We can see why quite clearly now." The group of ten of them bowed, and he did in return.

The ritual was simple enough. The blood of all friends and family of the deceased pooled their blood into one to signify their unity. After that they wash their hands with a healing solution and wrap the hand in cloth. The jar is topped off with an oil less dense than blood and then the fire from the cremation was used to catch the oil. It would burn for hours, and the ceremony would be finished when the flames went out. It was not necessary to stay to the end once the flame was lit.

He proceeded to the fire with a torch and lit it in the flames. He walked carefully back to the group gathered in a circle. The young woman from before held it out to him and nodded. He touched the flame to the liquid and it lit. He blew out the torch and returned it to Cromell.

"Oh flames of our past," he began, "return our fallen to the air we breathe and send their soul into Sajuuk's hands so he may shape the next. All of us stardust, burned into existence anew. We are the seeds for all things to come." The jar was brought over to the fire and placed on the surrounding bricks. Some came to give their own, adding to the pool.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Jay smiling. "Nabaal services are pretty brief so I figured I'd see how you're doing."

"I hope I said enough."

"You said it well, kid." Jay's copilot said approaching us. "I picked you for a spoiled runt like your father, but you do have good words with the people. Right now, it's what they need. But don't let it get to your head."

"I'm not sure I've met you before but you look familiar for some reason."

"I'm Robert Soban."

"No way, he thought you were killed," Mark said in shock. Jay and Eric stood confused, wondering what either of them meant.

"I'm your uncle."


	8. Chapter 8: Midnight Society

"Apologies for the wait! I've moved to a new place for school and had little writing time."

* * *

TRISTEN

The old man didn't mind that she lacked food. He told her it was unlikely he could eat in his condition anyway. She patched up what wounds she could and he treated the rest himself like it was something he did often. "So tell me about yourself," he said.

"There's not much to tell, really. I guess to you there would be a lot to say. I'm born on Hiigara, I was forced into military service by my parents when I was sixteen, my parents passed away last year," she paused to remember, "I've been on this ship for too long. This ship isn't scheduled for another crew change for three more years."

"Hiigara is said to be a paradise beautiful beyond belief from which we were exiled."

"Ancient history isn't taught in detail but I recall my cousin saying something when I was younger," she sighed. "I miss the open sky. I don't know why I'm still here, I've served my two years. I want to be off this dirty run down patrol carrier. My brother might not even remember me, I haven't heard from my family since leaving. The call about my parents came in as a courtesy from the police department in our district." He was listening carefully, not bored by any of it. "So tell me, why do you think this happened?"

"Me, I'm not superstitious. At least not anymore. No benevolent god would doom our entire people to burn and suffocate. I know that my people are still out there on their journey to the homeworld. A home familiar to you, it appears. I would ask for details but I think I'd rather be surprised."

"It'll be worth it, believe me."

"What about that boy? The one who helped you. Does he have a name?"

"Jake Tyral. I trust him. I've used these passages before when I first boarded. I was afraid of wandering the halls alone. The crew aren't a respectable bunch." He nodded, understanding what she meant. She had taken classes in self-defence techniques during her earlier years. The other pilots would have fights on the deck once week. She was good and that granted respect among some but not all. The walls kept her safe from piggish older men who could easily overpower her. That was until Jake began hanging around her, walking her home often, sometimes staying the night. They knew who his uncle was and wouldn't dare do anything.

"It seems like you've had quite the adventure," he said.

"Too much adventure. All I wanna do now is go back home and get a job teaching or something, maybe go back to school for it."

"I can admire that, I retired long ago and taught others how to pilot in my free time. Guess when aliens come to invade there's no person too old to fly," he laughed.

"Can you see yet?" she asked.

"To tell you the truth, I haven't tried." He took off his cloth and opened his eyes. They were a dark brown. "It's fuzzy, but I can tell you're blonde. That's about it," he said.

"It's progress. Couple days and you should be all good." She knew that the blindness was caused by their shock torture. It disrupts certain parts of the brain and took days for the neurons to correct themselves.

He laid back with his eyes close and smiled. "It's strange how a life can change in such a short time," he said. "Three days ago I was drinking with my son without a care in the world." He let out a heavy sigh and rolled on his side.

"You'll see him again. If you're lucky, that is."

"Luckier than I'd like to be."

* * *

MARK

His friends left them to talk alone. The hangar was beginning to clear out; only a few grievers remained. He was told that he had an uncle that died long ago. "Was my father aware?"

"No," he replied. "I was glad to be out, to start my life over. Markus and I were never on the best terms. When your mother came into the picture it was the end for us. I loved her first but I bet he never mentioned that." He hadn't. "She broke my heart and stole my little brother for good. That's about the last I remember of her."

"I never met her, so I wouldn't know. I know he loved her. He blamed himself for her death; he never really got over it."

"You have her eyes. Other than that you're definitely his son. He pulled out Mark's necklace. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"Not sure, it was the only thing my parents left me with the Paktu couple who raised me."

"It was hers. She was always wearing it. From her home city Ferin Sha. It's been a lifetime," he said. He knew their parents met in Ferin Sha. It was a communal Manaan town that boomed once a year for a festival that lasted weeks. He wasn't too familiar with it, he'd have to ask Isel.

"How'd you die? Or not die, I should say."

"I narrowly survived my last mission but was decided as killed in action. Knowing that, I became someone new. I married, had children, and grew old. Now I'm here."

"I have cousins?"

"Had. They were not among the ones chosen to leave. As for me, it's a long story I don't feel up to sharing." The room was now the two of them. The fire would burn until the day change in an hour.

Mark hadn't heard much of him. His father told stories of his mother and their friends, never his uncle. There was only one photograph from when they were in their teens. Maybe he chose to forget him after whatever split them apart, or perhaps he felt guilt about how it turned out. He would never know and now it didn't matter. "Sajuuk's hand, or our long lost kin. These Taiidan they've captured. They look just like us, unlike the Turanics."

"I heard they didn't survive the interrogation process," his uncle said.

"Good. I want no mercy spared on the likes of them." It was unlike him to hold a grudge. What they did qualified as an exception. His life was stolen from him, his home, his family, his love, none of that remained but in memories. Gazing on the dimming light of the fire, he decided he would do what he could to ensure justice is paid and their exodus arrive home safe.

"I'll see you around, kid. I suggest not to stick around too long. I hear there's much to do tomorrow." He didn't forget. The pilots on the _Mothership_ were for the most part low on combat experience, fresh out of the academy. They were not bad pilots, but he battle at _Khar-Selim_'s resting grounds showed that coaching was needed. They've already lost too many and if they were going to survive the journey a good strike force would he an excellent first step. The first group weren't participating in the fight, having an insufficient number of fighters.

He knew the Taiidan were a more sophisticated enemy than the Raiders. They haven't gone up against their pilots and didn't know what to expect. If they weren't prepared to face a militant and trained enemy attack force they would be in trouble. He took a last glance at the blood jar before turning to leave.

He saw Isel standing off in the dark watching him. Curious, he approached. "I'm exhausted but can't get to sleep," she said.

"Who can?" he replied. "No idea what I'm supposed to do tomorrow. I'm hoping we'll get through the basics easy enough."

"The fleet's the best there is, after all."

"The fleet's all… Oh, funny."

"Yet, true." There was a morbid side to her humour that amused him. Best to joke about tragedy than grieve for the unchangeable. He learned that from seeing how dwelling on it affected his father; he wished he'd never have to contain that kind of sorrow.

"Let's take a tour around the place," he suggested. Neither could sleep and there were sure to be many rooms yet unseen in their new home.

* * *

ERIC

The night revealed to him many things. The first being he was the last Gaalsien in the fleet, having seen no group of them at the ceremony and knowing none became Sleepers. It was a somber thought despite his poor opinion of his kiith. All the history unknown to the archives, gone. All the tales of old, lost to the Genocide. Many tales he'd known as a child were only told orally. Not only had a people been lost, but a culture. A telling of history. The Gaalsien tales were by far the oldest of Kharak, some dating back to the First City. Some myths date back before then, tales of their banishment and their sin.

He decided as the sole remaining member of the oldest clan in history to create a database. Many of the more familiar stories he'd begun writing down. Others he had to approximate and it pained him the original works were not with him to double check any mistakes he may have made.

One of the longer ones was set around the first moments of arrival, titled _Khar-Adama_, the First Men. The next was a tale of the First Men's departure from First City, the perils of trekking north through harsh sands and brutal heat. The others were for the most part non-written tales of their origins, ending in the tale of _Hiigara_, the lost promised land, their paradise, their home. One of the more known Gaalsien texts, being told in various forms from nearly all kiithid.

He wrote through the night having lost track of time. He'd completed a twenty-five page set of ten stories he remembered almost entirely. He then had to choose a title. He thought about it over a long shower. He came up with one that he decided fitting: _Gaalsien Legacy Vol. 1_, and signed it with his initials. He printed out ten copies to leave at various crowded areas. He would have to be quick about it, he wanted to attend the pilot training session later in the day.

The halls were empty, it was still early when he emerged from his tiny room. The lights were all on but nobody to be seen down any halls he came across. He held the copies, placing them in each of the lobby rooms he passed on his way to work. Most of his job involved wandering the halls ensuring the floor was clean and replacing trash bags in the lobbies. It was easy work for what little money he would require. It gave him clearance to normally off-limits areas. There was not much interesting to see behind most locked doors, however.

He did get a good idea of the _Mothership_'s layout. Beneath the main body was entirely dedicated to the Trays and after that there were the long range sensors. The main body housed the hangars and pilot and maintenance quarters. Resource containment began at the stern drop off points and storage was along the main body's hull as an extra armour layer. The prison was also in the aft section. To the bow was utility ship docking. He was unsure why the research craft did not have hyperdrives. Further up was the rest of the crew barracks and above that the bridge section located outside the main hull, purely an aesthetic decision as it left the entire control centre vulnerable. Inside the hull behind it housed Command and the hyperspace core. The section was highly off-limits, even to him. The top housed hydroponic farms. He figured it was some unknown genius engineer's design from generations ago.

He had dropped off all copies he had on him and was walking around the pilot housing having completed his morning run. He turned the corner to see the manaan girl leaving Mark's room. He checked the time, it was still fairly early. He continued his route deciding it none of his business.

* * *

ISABELLA

Six-thirty in the morning. Not many were awake. She left his room in a hurry to get into hers before being noticed. She didn't know if anyone would pay attention but the thought made her nervous anyway. She had his smell and needed to get clean and think about the night before.

They wandered around the ship until finding a dark room with a window along the wall. They assumed it was an unused lobby. They talked for maybe an hour, getting intimate. She was still under the effects of the ritualistic herbs smoked at the ceremony, her people's custom. They went back to his room and began making out on his bed. It was very late and she was tired. "You can stay if you want," he said. She wanted to, and so she did. Nothing more happened between them than they'd already done. He said it was hard to be alone. She knew what he meant.

"Well, it's too late now," she said turning off the water. She'd made it no secret that she was attracted to him, but his reasons for sleeping with her were mixed up with him missing his Valerie. She felt guilty not being more sensitive to his loss and decided to give him space if he needed it. He'd felt the most loss in this; that didn't mean she'd go too easy on him but it did mean she'd be considerate and not an asshat. Not too often, anyway.

After getting dressed, her thoughts centred on more important matters, like how she would be helping with the first training session. Were it a week ago, she would have felt unworthy of the responsibility having very minimal experience outside of the academy. Now, she felt she did qualify but she was also a lot younger than most pilots, and it would be difficult getting them to listen to her. She decided that was Mark's job to help with.

Mark and her left the group in the mess hall to meet their trainees. Neither mentioned the night before and Mark didn't look uncomfortable during the elevator ride. She decided she was overthinking it. It was time to be professional anyway.

There were a couple dozen in the hangar, the same one that only last night was crowded for the funeral service. "Maintenance sure works quick," she said. They stopped in front of them. There were many in attendance they hadn't seen yet. Then again they hadn't met very many of the others, as they've usual arrived at the hangar late.

"Sorry if we're a bit behind, breakfast was more important," Mark joked. Some laughed but most kept serious. "Those of you laughing failed my first test, but it's mostly to see if this group as a whole feels up to the challenge. Now we don't have time to go through all of basic training unless most of you've never been in a fighter before." Apparently most have flown before but none have been in combat. As mark spoke she looked at each of them. None much older than twenty. Still all older than her but still young. Then to her surprise, she spotted Eric hiding in the back row. "I'd like to have my assistant speak about how she felt during her first battle." All eyes shifted to her. She didn't know what to say.

"Like, how it felt, or how I'd describe it?" She wasn't shy but she didn't expect him to put her on the spot like that.

"Anything, just tell 'em about it. It's still fresh in your mind is why I'm asking." It made sense.

"It started as a nervous confusion. Then there were enemies, aliens. They came at us in clusters. I was afraid. It's not like me to admit fear but it was terrifying. There were several times I only lived because of a chance maneuver to the side, or turning at the exact right time. You can't plan for that. You guess at it and predict when they're gonna fire. Those were just pirates, unorganized, clumsy pirates."

"Being out there is a rush of anxiety and fear if you're not used to it. My job is to make sure you stay alive by giving you some advice over the next week on how to deal with that rush so you can focus in battle."

He had a way of getting the full attention of everyone in the room. Maybe they respected him, maybe it was his father. She couldn't tell. Either way, it made him a leader to them. She saw it in their eyes as he continued through his lesson.

Afterwards in the elevator, she mentioned it to him. "You think so? I felt it went pretty unproductive."

"Not the point, they listen to you. They respect you, they even like you unlike Leo." They exchanged a laugh.

"For the record, I don't regret last night. It's nice to finally be accepting that this is real and not some nightmare I can't wake from," he said. She gave him a kiss and left to find Eric, wanting to ask him some questions about a bundle of pages she'd found that morning in the lobby.


	9. Chapter 9: Moving for the Sake of Motion

TRISTEN

"I hope it's enough. There's not much to go around and getting even this much was hard," Jake stole some food for her and the old man. They met in an unused storage compartment near where they were hiding. He also brought her a couple changes of clothes knowing she had been in her flight suit since being locked up. "You could also use a shower, no offence."

"Could I ever… Anyway, the old man's getting his sight back. When he does I'll be able to get around easier." She felt obligated to ensure his well-being at least until he could move on his own. "What else can you tell me?" She was kept in the dark from most of the current discussion on the carrier after her incarceration. What was the Emperor's reaction? Pleased, probably. What was the people's reaction? Were they okay with this or did they hate the Empire that much more for it? Did the galactic council even know?

"Well, apparently the ship's still damaged and will be for a while. New cracks are showing up all over the place. As for your companion, he's not really a high priority at the moment so you'll be good where you are." She kept note to avoid damaged areas. One, because being vented out while in hyperspace sounded astronomically unpleasant and two, because the service paths were likely to be in use for repairs. "I printed the week's news. Figured you'd like to get caught up." She hugged him for this one.

"Something else, your uncle's a Traditionalist, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he calls himself that anyway, why?"

"Ask him about Old Taiidan sometime. There's a lot this old man talks about that sounds like ancient history, at least what little I know about it." She became interested in the past shortly before her departure while admiring the large moss-covered monuments in Haalt-Nar's central park and later exploring the buried city beneath with her cousin. Technically it was off-limits but Jared was never one to abide by the law, participating in protests, avoiding arrest on several occasions with his in-depth knowledge of the underground. She thought that lifestyle would be exciting; to run around unknown, taking whatever necessary to survive, while making fun of the authorities in the process.

Then she realized she could do that if she so felt like it. They weren't looking for her, not really, and she was confident in knowing her way around the ship's maintenance halls. If food was needed to survive, why not take it? But not simply take it from an already underfed crew member, but take it from the captain or the other elite officers getting far more than quota. The way back to her temporary home, she thought it over. She enjoyed the vigilante fantasy she'd created for herself so much she began to think of it seriously.

"Foolishness aside, I owe you big time, Jake."

"Oh, I know. But don't worry about it. It's not fair what they did. Many of the crew are upset about this after coming out of their power rush. It was an ugly scene and I regret not taking a stand with you."

"It would've made no difference," she said. "The captain's mind is unchangeable. It just means you'd be locked up with me and your uncle shamed because of it."

"I'd hug you again but you kinda smell," he said. It was hard arguing to that. They said their goodbyes and she snuck off back behind the walls.

* * *

"What? That's insane, girl! We're trying to keep hidden, remember?" A couple days had passed since the idea crossed her mind. She'd made a full plan of how she was to pull it off. The old man wasn't as enthusiastic about it as she was. "Stealing food from the captain and his friends? Are you _trying_ to be wanted? I don't know about you but I'd like to, you know, no get tortured again." She did see his point, even though she though he was exaggerating. She could sneak around easy enough.

The more he argued about this she felt like walking off and letting him cool down. "Relax, gramps. I'm only helping you until you can see again. After that, you won't have to worry about me. I'll drop off supplies and make sure you don't die. Until…"

He stared at her, eyebrows questioning. "Didn't plan that through, huh? I don't know how long I'll be up here. You on the other hand aren't an alien fugitive who has information they want." She had to consider his safety as well, she knew that. If she was believed to know his whereabouts she'd be questioned about it and then know. They had their ways.

She shuddered at the thought. "Let's be optimistic about it. I can't keep relying on Jake for food. We'll need to start pulling our own weight soon. I'm not stupid enough to think it wasn't dangerous but we don't have many other options. I don't want to steal too much from the crew's rations if they're already low to begin with. It'll be noticeable. I also think stealing from the higher-ups would send a message of dissatisfaction. They won't go as far as treating the crew with excessive force, everyone here is toughened over the years; if the crew mutiny my money's on them."

He nodded. "I understand your feelings for your fellow crew members and I get that you've put thought into this but what if you get caught? You technically don't have a crime on your head. What's the punishment for that? Mild? Severe? It doesn't matter because we need to stick together. Neither of us will make it on our own. Even if you start being accepted out in the open there will always be those looking for me." She understood he meant the last fleet.

"Why are you so sure?" She didn't know why he believed they would find them. Chances are their numbers are small and the Turanic could take care of them if ordered to.

"Because my people are still alive," he said staring her down. "And they are very vengeful." In his eyes she saw rage. A rage like none other she'd known before. Perhaps she'd never known true rage. In this semi-blind man's eyes, she knew the meaning of anger and hatred; the lust for justice served upon those who have burned an entire world to ash and glass. There were thousands remaining, hundreds of thousands. All with the same look in their eyes as this old man who lost all he knew and loved. She had to look away, or she might have started believing him.

She stepped closer to him now, and gently gave him a hug. "I get it. I'll be careful, but it needs to be this way. When all is said and done and if we encounter your people once again I will return you to them if I can, even if I have to surrender myself to their mercy." The man was calm now, a sob beginning. "I promise this."

They sat like that for several minutes. The man eventually looked up. "Thank you," he said. "If you don't mind, and since you're going out, I need a drink." A smile bridging on laughter crossed her face. She felt the same way but he could definitely use it more.

"First on the list," she said leaving their small living compartment.

* * *

Guards walked the halls near the bridge sections. She'd wandered in the walls until she took the handle of a sealed door and felt like her hand would freeze off. Now she walked the halls in a uniform she found in a janitor closet, he hair tied up and covered with a hat. Only a fake moustache would complete the look, she felt entirely ridiculous.

It did appear to be working, however, as not many looked her way. The bridge was far more active than the prison levels.

"Kyle, huh?" an officer commented.

"Surname, sir." He raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to go on.

When she did run into trouble, she was three halls away from the storage room for the higher ranking officers. Two guards didn't buy her disguise. They asked her for identification, but wouldn't accept her attempt to make it look like she forgot it in her locker. A panic built up, and decided she failed.

"Ah, Tanya Kyle! It's been a while, hasn't it," Jake said walking up to her and giving a big hug. "Is there a problem, or something?" he asked.

"Not at all, young Tyral, she should be sure to remember her identification when coming this far up the bridge, there are certain security protocols we must follow. Otherwise we don't get paid." They walked off soon after. Once again, Jake and his uncle's status saved her.

"Dammit, Trix, What's wrong with you?"

"I planned this out, okay? I just didn't expect to leave the walls."

"Well, we've already come this far, so what's the plan?"

She smiled. "Three halls that way there's a food storage room for the bridge." She took out a bag and lined a bucket with it.

"I get you," he said. "I still think you're too impulsive for your own good, though."

They walked on without too many prying eyes in her direction, mostly due to Jake's friendly mannerisms. He's well known in this section, apparently. They came across the door and to their benefit it was unlocked. She had a keycard but didn't know the janitorial staff's codes. They rushed in before anyone noticed. And ran into the older Tyral.

"U—uncle!"

"What's your business here, Jake?"

"Me? What are _you_ in here for? Also, uh…" he drew a blank.

"Getting a snack. Nobody needs to know, though, right?" he said. "I recognize you, don't I?"

"Yeah. It's not his fault, I kinda did this on my own and he decided to come along to avoid suspicions."

"And the other one?"

"What other one?" she said. "I've been on my own since leaving my cell."

He rubbed between his eyes and spoke clearly. "Tristen, I have access to all security cameras including those in the service hatches. I don't really care what happens to the Kushan. Even if we get information out of him we're stranded when we exit. Well, that's what they'll make the rest believe, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Jake said.

"What I'm saying is that there are a high number of believed rebels aboard. What I'm saying is some of the higher ranking staff are believed to be those individuals." He stopped to see if they were paying attention. "What I'm saying, nephew, is that I'm one of them. And so is she," he said pointing to her.

"Wait a sec, I'm not sure what you're talking about."

He gave her a confused glance then lowered his voice. "You don't know, do you?" he said. "Your parents were rebels, quite important ones at that." She couldn't believe this. Her mother was part of the political cabinet regulating the capital. Her father often spoke out about the anarchy arising on some worlds in annoyance. Her cousin though…

"So then them shipping me out here—"

"Was them protecting you. I'm sorry, this is a lot to process in a short amount of time. I'll leave first then you two bring the Kushan to my private quarters on the prison level. I'll explain more there."

* * *

Harry Tyral was about forty in age. He'd been in military service since sixteen and when he found out about the true history of their origins on Hiigara from his family at age twenty-two he'd turned to the rebel factions for answers. He was from a Traditionalist background, which is to say they did not agree with the current state of the Empire, and would prefer the old ways where the people had a say and the emperor of the time heeded their words. Not necessarily on their side at first, eventually he was exposed to horrendous atrocities that had been committed by the Empire he served. Mass executions, enslavement of the bankrupt worlds, forcing his homeworld into submission under threat of invasion. The list went on. He could never forgive them.

The cart she stole earlier blocked the room's entrance so they could talk without interruptions. The old man was the first to speak after he told his story. "I take it we can trust you, then?"

"Yes," he answered, "but only from a distance. I'll be under investigation once we drop from hyperspace. Tristen shouldn't have any problems coming out into the open again, I can clear her record easily.

She had so many questions to ask about her parents now, but it was not the time for it. There were more important problems to prepare for. It pained her, but she pushed them away. "How do we go about hiding the Kushan?"

Jake had an appropriate answer. "They're looking for those in higher positions of power, right? Why not hide him in resource processing?"

"I'm a pilot, not a miner. I'll do so if I must but I don't think it would be believable."

"We have no other options," she said.

They sat in silence eating their stolen food. They all knew the risks of what they were doing. Conspiring against the Empire was punishable by death. Jake was innocent, but if they were found out she didn't know if he'd be spared. And as for herself, with rebel parents, she knew it didn't look good for her already.

She was in great need of a shower, however, and being cleared of whatever crimes she'd been arrested for she decided it best to do so. The Kushan was safely back in the small crawl space passing out from whatever liquor he consumed at Harry Tyral's expense. There was no danger in spending one night in the bed she'd not been in for what felt like ages.

The steam was a comfortable temperature, and she began slowly cleaning herself off. She had time to think now. Her parents, rebels. Harry had no reason to be dishonest about that, he even looked surprised that she had no idea what he meant. He expected her to be a fellow rebel agent. Perhaps he thought locking her up would prevent any rash actions that would bring her loyalties into question. Or maybe she was overthinking it.

There was also the old man's insistence that his fleet would find him. He didn't have any tracker on him, or the interrogators would have found it and destroyed it. They even jettisoned his fighter's parts after analyzing them. "Maybe he's crazy," she said to herself turning off the steam.

That night, she slept as though she'd been in a week long skirmish finally ended.


	10. Chapter 10: Hold Up My Head

"Author here, I split the last chapter 9 uploaded in half. I recommend going back and reading the newly added stuff. This is largely unchanged so feel free to skip ahead if you've read it. I'm also going to try sticking to one POV character per chapter now to simplify things. I'll get the previous chapters edited after I finish to avoid too much confusion."

-KLM

* * *

MARK

A few days went by, ending off the first week of their trip. He noticed how slow time passed for him now, as opposed to before any of the chaos. A week on the outskirts of Tiir went by like a breeze. With all that's been flashing through his mind now, he hardly ever had a moment to relax and enjoy what he could out of his time.

Often he thought back to Valerie, but doing so was usually followed by an eruption into sobbing and tears and an afternoon locked away in his room answering to no one. He could still imagine her voice, he could still picture her face. Her soft brown hair, her hazel eyes rimmed with green. Nothing could bring her back, he knew this. He'd spent the night with Isabella once, as both were feeling particularly low that evening and neither wanted to be left alone. He hadn't mentioned it to her since. He felt guilty of being unfaithful, but the girl he loved was no longer alive. He tried hard not to think of things that have passed, but grief was a natural response to loss, and hard to control. His father must have known this feeling for a long time.

He wanted him around. If he'd joined the fighter testing with him, like he was asked, he would be among the survivors. It was not profitable to think in what-ifs, he knew that. He felt unworthy to take on this role he'd begun filling; senior pilot and instructor to the rest. He'd learned much from his father, but he still felt as though his father could do better. He wanted his father to do better. He wanted him here, to talk to, to ask how to proceed, seek advice, have a drink with, the reasons he missed Markus the Great went on. Being honest with himself, he wanted his father back. He wanted his father's support and his love. Therefore, thinking of him proved unprofitable as well.

He took a shower to clear his mind and focus on other things, more pressing matters. The pilots he'd been training, for instance. A few picked up quick, others not so much. He wanted to see what Eric could do, him having no official ranking position. They took the fighter over to the Capital bay and turned on the lights. There was room enough for a fighter to maneuver around. He did well, scoring higher in some areas than rank fives and some sixes, but still ranking lower in others like pitch control. His aim was adequate, and his reflexes were sharp. The group set up a paint gun to show how well he dodged and only a few hit. At the end of two days, he signed him on as his second wingman. Isel gave him an over the top annoying hug to congratulate him, as is her usual style.

To complete his standard squad, he took the best scoring. Carol Manaan and Henry Kaalel. Carol was twenty, and Isel, being five years younger and already on good terms with her, called them the Sand Sisters. Henry's background was peculiar as there were fewer Kaalel pilots in the fleet than Soban ones. He served as one of the test pilots for new simulators being developed in Tiir his whole life, and was accustomed to the way a cockpit was organized. He even explained some of the tools Mark couldn't begin to identify. Three other standard squadrons were made from already skilled pilots and from those he deemed prepared for combat.

He stepped out of the shower remembering he was to meet his squad in the hangar. They had some kind of surprise for him, but he didn't know anything about it. He asked Isel earlier at breakfast but she wouldn't say, so why not play along? He grabbed a coffee from the lobby and went to the elevators.

He found his squadron along with Jay standing around a gutted fighter. He approached both confused and interested as to what the gathering was all for.

"Surprise! We thought since you were under the most stress this whole time we'd do all the work for this so you can have all the fun parts," Isel started. "Squad leaders get to pain their ship and it's stripes whatever colour they choose, the three others get theirs done later in the day."

His ship's hull platings lay in several pieces over the hangar deck. He inspected them, saw they were lightly battle damaged, observed the paint cans to the side. He then noticed the number two on one of the panels. "It's the same ship, isn't it? The one from the _Khar-Selim_ battle?"

"Sure is, second interceptor of the _Mothership_ fleet. All yours, my friend," Jay answered handing him a can of red paint.

"You know me well, Jay. I think I know how I want her to look." He found the first of the larger side panels and sprayed red over the entire surface, making sure no grey could be seen. He told the others they could help by doing the same with the other outer hull platings, and they were more than happy to jump in. He asked someone to hand him the engine control panel's top hood as he thought it'd be a perfect spot to put a custom decal.

"Any specific ideas?" Jay asked sitting next to him with a roll of tape.

"My family crest seems appropriate, don't you think?" he joked.

"May the blood of all soban fallen before him spill out again from his enemies, eh?" he said in his exaggerative fashion. "Those Taiidan better run and hide when they see this thing zipping towards them."

He laughed with him, and he left to go bug the others while Mark taped up the pattern he wanted, and sprayed it onto the metal. He blew on it, not sure if that helped dry the paint at all. He put it aside to be sure it dried. The others finished up the remaining hull pieces a nice bright red. Somebody brought a cooler and they took a half hour break to simply enjoy the day.

"A great choice, very fitting I think for our Soban leader," Carol said.

"I guess we call Red Squad by default, don't we?" he said.

"I hear the others chose blue, green and purple," Isel said. "Is there any tactical advantage to this, or what. You'd think making your ship stand out more would get the enemy to focus on you."

"Instead of your copilots, yes, that's the point of it, so the enemy is focusing on the squad leader and not his wingmen. It's a psychological trick, since while they're focusing on me, you guys have more freedom to engage, not being targeted as heavily." That was what he could assume, anyway.

"It just means squadron leaders will need to be the best of the best. Technically all of you qualify as squad leaders but Eric, but I want one vanguard squad who's made of all highly skilled pilots. Not to jump into any fight like reckless idiots, but to fend off enemy forces when they get too close so while the other squads move in to back us up. Mostly what this means is we'll be rocking evasive mode a lot."

"That's fine by me," Eric added, "I hardly know what you all do, I'm kind of new."

"That's why you're my wingman and Henry is yours. He'll watch your tail and he'll be more of a target being at the edge of formation. It really comes down to how your enemy prioritizes targets, and how you counter that by putting better pilots in some spots than others. Your job will be to watch my back as well as Henry's. If he's being fired on, you can drop formation to fire on his target and join back up when we make the second round. you'll have to dodge incoming fire at that point, but they'll mostly be focusing on the squadrons than the lone fighters."

"So I'm the sniper, if you'll have that analogy."

"Kind of, yeah, you're more effective when dropping back and firing on our chasers. Isel will be doing similar, so follow her lead. We'll run some training drills when we reach the asteroid field, don't stress too much about it."

Their break came to an end. Tape covered the panels where the stripe would be, and he chose black as the colour to paint it. It only took another five minutes to get the rest of the painting done, and then they began piecing the plating back onto the ship. Everybody joined in on screwing things back in place. Another twenty minutes or so later and the ship was back in one single piece. He ripped off the tape, and looked at his beautiful bird.

"You can name it," Jay said.

"I can? Huh, let me think." He held his necklace just then. It didn't take long for him to decide. Jay gave him a can of black with a thin nozzle at the end and he wrote it on the cockpit's side: _Ferin Sha_. The Dancing Grounds, home to his mother who he never met. The two Manaani looked especially pleased by his decision, Isel also seemed confused.

"My mother's home," he said. "What, do you really expect I crossed the Great Desert without being part nomad?"

"So you're only half Soban?" she asked.

"You don't have to be Soban by blood to be a Soban. Anyone can join our clan if they don't mind putting up with our traditions."

"Yeah, I would know, I almost did!" Jay said. He remembered that day, Mark asked him if he felt like becoming a Soban since he knew no Nabaal alive who claimed to be his family. Jay was open to the idea at first, but decided to keep his identifying clan's title, as a way to thank them for taking him in after whatever had happened to his parents, or if they simply gave him away. He never knew. "I say we celebrate tonight to our first week out. Drinks are on me," Jay said. "For those over eighteen, that is," he said sticking his tongue out at Isel. She returned the act, but followed them anyway.

Mark made his way to the back with her. "I'm only seventeen, so don't worry about it. I'm sure security has more important things to deal with than some underaged drinking," he winked.


	11. Chapter 11: Don't Be Careless

ISABELLA

She awoke to a wet pillow, her body covered in sweat. It was hot. The clock showed ten twenty-eight. She stumbled her way to the sink, took her medication from the shelf behind the mirror and drank from the tap. She felt dehydrated, unsure why the air felt so warm and dry. Wiping her face, she remembered home. Yes, Kharak. That was what the air reminded her of; those long days off in the desert, moving one foot in front of the other for hours at a time. She didn't miss the foul odour of the clan's men or the gritty dirty lifestyle with sand getting into every possible corner, but she did miss the open terrain and the freedom it welcomed.

After a shower, she headed out into the hall dressed down for the heat in shorts and a thin green shirt. She stumbled into Jay in her floor's lobby.

"Hey," he greeted approaching her. "Have you seen Mark yet at all?"

"No, I just woke up actually. What's with the heat?"

"I heard it was something about the cooling systems malfunctioning. An announcement this morning said it should be fixed by mid afternoon." As he said this, Mark jogged into the room wearing a white muscle shirt soaking up sweat.

"It finally feels normal for once," he said elbowing Jay's shoulder. He noticed our surprised looks and explained. "What, I used to go on jogs all the time back home. I don't burn easily and I found it calmed my nerves. It's too cold here for that."

"Whatever you say man," Jay responded. "Listen, I've got a few things to ask, we kinda need help installing better flight control systems on the Porters. They're a bit clunky right now and we figured that if we're gonna be out facing enemies we should be able to dodge better."

"Uh, sure thing," he said. "You interested?" he asked now to her. She had nothing better to do today, and was used to working in the heat probably better than most.

"Sure, I used to help repair sand sailers for extra food, or whatever." Her father was a pig, finishing more than his share before she or her older sister got any. She hadn't thought of her in years.

"Good, meet me on the maintenance deck in fifteen," he said jogging off, possibly to ask more people to come help out.

They were alone now, and she stole a few glances over at him. She thought he was insane for working out as much in this heat but judging by his body she did believe him about getting back to schedule. He noticed as she looked away but says nothing. They hadn't spoken about what happened three nights ago.

It was late by the time they got out of the bar and they'd both had quite a bit to drink. Being over two years underage, she felt nervous about appearing intoxicated while walking back to the elevator. It wasn't the first time she went out drinking or anything, she just felt as though she might run into either a superior or one of their trainees. Mark reassured her that it was far too late for anyone to notice. They joked and laughed the whole way back, and when in the elevator she leaned in to kiss him, and before long their arms were around each other, their lips finding out how they fit together best. The Manaani were quite open about such things, but an uncomfortable feeling built up in her gut and she pulled away. The door opened and she ran off too embarrassed to explain.

"Dude, we were wasted. It's okay," he said hitting her on the shoulder and starting down their hall.

"It's nothing against you, it's just…"

"Don't feel like you need to explain yourself, I wasn't gonna have it continue much longer anyway. Valerie, I mean…" He didn't need to finish, she understood. That wasn't her reason for pulling back, though that might have been part of it. Another being that she was his wingman, second in command of Red Squadron. They were also stuck on a colony ship on the brink of a war against an interstellar empire, and she felt there wouldn't be room for any kind of lasting relationship in that. She didn't want to care about anyone knowing either they or she could die at any point before their arrival.

"I'm actually gonna go eat something quickly, I haven't yet," she said turning away from the hall. He nodded and continued on.

She noticed most of those she passed by had the same idea as her; half the men weren't wearing shirts. They were all in good need of a shower.

"Looking over those notes at all?" she asked Eric who was sitting alone at their usual table. His focus was on some notes, so much so that the next spoonful nearly missed his mouth. "You'd better not keep that kind of attention in battle or you're a goner," she added.

"Oh, hi there, yes a lot of it is quite interesting. I've looked over most of it already and think I can make an entire volume of just those, really." He took another few bites. "If it gets any hotter my shoes are gonna melt to the floor."

She'd gone to find him a few times to ask him about his writing. He wasn't in his room the first couple times, but ran into him eventually. He didn't seem comfortable talking about much of it, but got interested when she told him about some things she'd remembered hearing growing up. The elders would watch the children while the adults—or anyone over age fourteen—went to hunt and cook food or help unload the caravans when they found good land to stay in for the time being. She'd heard them so many times that it wasn't hard to recall them. At the time she was more annoyed than interested, but now, it was all she had left of her tribe. One couple she remembered vaguely were sleepers, but no others.

"Has Jay asked you yet?" she said unsure what else to talk to him about. They had only a few things in common, and neither felt like talking about their past lives anyway, Kharak still filling a dark gloom in their minds.

"He has, I figure there's no other work for me to do today. I've been fixing fighters for years, so why not?" he said. She'd heard about that, he used to work for an extremist faction as a kid, not entirely sure what was happening. It gave an entire other perspective to it, not many would accept this. She could, having a different background than most.

The Siidim and Manaan had never been on good terms after the bloodbath in Ferin Sha in the sixth century. Gaalsien and Manaan had good relations during the Hersey Wars, often giving aid to ravaged villages when passing through, many joining their ranks and abandoning their kiith to seek safety in the desert. It was a dark time, one that was remembered well by her people.

Something else was bothering her now, the faces of those she'd pass by; dark and lonesome, as if gazing nowhere. Ten days in and they already looked ready to give up. The last few training sessions she'd seen it too. There had to be some way to change this, but all she could think of was the thing they don't have much of: time. She didn't blame anyone, the ship was still in mourning over the death of every person they'd ever known who wasn't going to Hiigara.

For some, including herself, the reality hadn't quite set in for them and this allowed her to remain functional. Eric too appeared to fall under this group, but also distancing himself often from the world and diving into the past. The worst off she'd seen so far had to be Mark. He avoided all talk of it, of the past, and more specifically the two people closest to him. He couldn't avoid thinking of his father, she guessed, because that was who everyone else was thinking about when looking at him, and he knew it. The rare time he does mention the name Valerie his eyes go absent. She'd seen his knuckles bruised up on some days and a look of sleeplessness.

The two of them had gotten close in a quite short amount of time, though the circumstance tends to do that.

"We should get down there, eh?" Eric said.

She nodded.

John, Mark, Jay and a couple others she couldn't recognize stood over by a row of four Porters with the cargo ramps lowered. A fifth craft was being constructed behind them but other than it being corvette-class she couldn't tell what it was. It was slightly less hot, possibly because of the openness.

"Hey, there she is," said John. "Jay was just going on about how cute you look trying to teach the pilot newbies."

"Liar, I'll lock you in a cargo hold and just not tell anyone. By the time they find you you'll be slumped over in a corner fat on rations," he replied.

She didn't know much about him. He appeared to be handling the Genocide better than most, and had a humorous personality that refused to allow negativity to approach. Mark knew him better than anyone.

"Well, he's not wrong. I'm adorable. No one expects me to be violent," she says kicking John in the shin. "It's great." The others found it funny too.

"She's Manaani, you should expect it," Eric added. "Besides, the guys are gonna pay more attention to what the cute face has to say than the other one half asleep having to sit down halfway through the first hour."

"He managed to sleep through most math classes and still passed," Jay said.

"With good marks too!" Mark added.

"If you call seventies good."

"Hey, three out of four ain't bad."

"I like your thinking," she said, not sure they realized she had little regulated education travelling the desert. Education has nothing on experience, they'd say. The Sjet really hated that phrase.

"I still don't know who the rest of you are. I'm Eric."

"Bradley LiirHra, Jay's technician. I handle the magnetic clamps and virus uploader and that kind of stuff."

"We call them Geeks," Jay said.

"We're just Geeks from other corvettes here to help out, since we probably known the ships better than most. If you can't tell, we kinda take pride in the ridiculous title," one of them said.

"I like it," Eric said. "I'm a Gaalsien, pretty much a bad word the more north you go."

"I think I read something you wrote. And don't worry about it, we're both Paktu." The other of the three southern allies. Manaani would be sure to leave Paktu farms alone, but didn't take the same approach for the Siidim who'd invaded the hemisphere not even a century prior. Sometimes they hired Sobani to guard their farms, and they'd have to sneak up and paralyze them. Killing a Sobani was considered cowardly, who only do the jobs they do to get paid. They have no loyalty to any kiith but their own, but they also don't discriminate against any, not historically at least. Her clan hired a few now and then to guard the tent towns for their short stays near unfriendly settlements.

"How was it?" he asked.

"I liked it. It's interesting to see a non-media side of your culture. It is the oldest clan, after all."

She was listening along focused mainly on Mark, who had his socks pulled up the whole way. It was a weird habit, but not something too important, she didn't think. That's until he scratched a shin with his other foot and saw a bandage underneath.

As the conversations started being more about what they were all standing around in an almost empty hangar for the group moved to the corvettes. Mark waited for her, and she tapped him on his shin. "If it's what I think it is, we're gonna have to talk." He stiffened, and followed nervously to catch up with the others.


	12. Chapter 12: Bright Lights

ERIC

The next week passed by a blur to him, spending them completing his sanitation duties then immediately afterwards down on the hangar with the other trainees, sometimes for hours. He felt there was nothing more to learn without launching out into the void himself in the cockpit. Today was that day.

The _Mothership_ was dropping out of hyperspace in two hours into the asteroid field. He didn't know much about what was expected, only that it was mainly aimed at resource gathering and ship construction. Mark told the group the day before that they were using the opportunity to run field exercises against smaller asteroids as targets. He expected it to be an exciting day.

He had only just completed his morning rounds and took a break in his room. His desk was cluttered with pages, most of them from his series of historical texts. Isabella had come around at one point to talk with him about it, interested in similarities to her own kiith's verbal folk tales. They laid out a third release, retitling it _Kushan Legacy_, as it contained much more than only his clan's stories. He decided it appropriate to release his first two volumes within this book as well. It came together exceptionally fast, but there it was on the desk; the first fully printed manuscript of two hundred pages, to be handed in to the printing press on the upper levels.

At first he was not going to bother with it, but his second volume had gained a little more popularity than the first. He often overheard talk of it in the cafeteria or while performing his evening rounds. People wanted, no, needed a distraction from the recent events still lingering in the back of everyone's thoughts. He could provide one. So, there it was. Two hundred bound pages ready to be overseen by an editor. The first part were the Gaalsien legends he had grown to love, the second contained Manaani tales, and the third was what he could gather from other clans. Not many survived the ages, even less survived the Genocide. There was an author's note at the end explaining the contents and his interpretations of the texts.

It did not feel like only a couple weeks had passed. It felt as though a month had. He was accustomed to a life of solitude before, but now he had what some might call friends.

Only two weeks.

The bright fluorescents hurt his eyes, and he decided to hand in the papers. The elevators were farther bow-end from him, but the ship was not nearly as large as it was tall. It was quite convenient, he thought. It was easy enough to get to any location from anywhere. The main elevator, however, was in a large open room compared to the ones that led down to the hangar levels from the lobbies.

Upon arriving in the terminal, he was met with a large crowd of people rushing to wherever it was they were heading. He then felt more so than before that he was but one of the fifty-thousand others that lived on this ship, only one small person among thousands hurdling through hyperspace together towards the unknown.

He could tell it was an older part of the ship; many large portions of the walls were refurbished or covered up, but the old rusted steel could still be seen higher up. He stepped over a couple tracks leading to a tunnel pointing aft. He imagined it to be a service tram leading over to the resourcing division.

He found a service desk with a woman behind a computer monitor. "What can I do for you?" she asked without looking up, she must have been busy so he wouldn't take up too much of her time.

"I'm wondering how to get to the bridge section, specifically the printing press."

She typed for a few seconds, then said, "Bridge level four, port side. There will be a map when you exit the elevator, the one to use would be the second on your left." She smiled briefly, he thanked her, and she immediately returned to her work as he started towards the elevator.

Halfway through the mass of people, he ran into someone he never hoped to see again. He didn't notice him until he was pushed into another of his drones. "Oh, look who it is!" he said. It was the Siidim who attacked him on _Scaffold_. He didn't recall a name.

"Do you have nothing better to do," he said.

He mocked him, then pulled the papers from his backpack. "What's this, some new edition to your propaganda?" he said flipping through the pages.

"You might call it that, sure. I'd like to consider it preserving history."

"Your history, Gaalsien. Why shouldn't I just rip this up right here?" He was about to, but waiting for Eric's reaction.

"Why bother," he said keeping his tone calm, "I can always print out another copy and bring it later if you do. Besides, most of the new material is Manaani, thus the title change." He looked briefly. "Hate my clan all you want, I don't care. None of them are left now so you're only doing yourself a disservice by wasting both our time." They held eye contact for a moment longer before his friend spoke up.

"Will, guards at your five." He glanced over his shoulder, seeing an officer approach them.

"Watch yourself, Gaalsien," he said pushing the papers back to him and heading off into the crowd.

"Is there a problem, sir?" the officer asked.

"I'm a Gaalsien, he's a Siidim. I expect nothing less."

The elevator ride was less eventful. It did not stop on every floor, instead shot upwards at speeds that made him feel as though he were being pushed into the floor. It stopped twice before arriving where he got off. Bridge level four. It was on the lower end of the top section's upwards curve where it would meet up with the outer hull.

If it were not for how clean and new everything looked around him, he might have felt less secure with so little protection.

He found out where he needed to go and began walking. The hall was walled by a window showing him a beautiful view of the ship's exterior when he leaned in to look. Hyperspace surrounded them, it was like any night sky, but with stars zipping by at unnatural speeds. Thin wisps of interstellar dust passed by now and then in colourful streaks. It amazed him how full the void really was.

The door came up on his left. He opened it, and waited in a chair for his meeting to start. He'd scheduled it over online correspondences, having been contacted by someone named Kara Kaalel. Apparently she'd overheard talk about his second volume and had to read for herself.

A few minutes went by before she walked out the other door. "Eric?" he signalled. "Come with me, please." He did, she led him down the hall to her office, a small room among the rest. The Kaalel were most of the journalists and record keepers onboard, and it made sense that the editorial office would be filled with them. Plain clothed with tied back hair, paler than most Kushan.

"The last remaining Gaalsien," she said sitting in her chair, he took the one in front of the desk. "A story on its own, really, but I'll leave that to my journalist colleagues to decide." She was in a good mood, apparently. "Down to business. The stories you've included in your first two volumes are quite accurate, historically speaking, and I was surprised to learn they're actual Gaalsien legends. I've studied Kushan history for a while now. Out of curiosity, do you have any texts I might borrow?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any with me. All I've written is what I remember. It's as accurate as I can make it, but some parts I had to think about for a while before the rest came to me."

"A shame," she said. "What's that?"

He handed her the pages, they were a little roughed up from the Siidim but still nice enough to give out. "A manuscript I've been working on. I figured you'd be interested in helping me get it published, since I have no idea how to do that."

"Oh, yes, certainly," she said flipping through the first few pages. "Tales from the nomads of old, impressive, I think I might enjoy going over this one too."

"I plan on continuing to make more volumes as they come to me," he said. "I figured if there's anything I can do to redeem my kiith's name, it is to recite its history as it was before the wars. I grew up in Saju-ka's libraries. I have read and memorized countless tales, and have imagined unimaginable worlds beyond Kharak."

Her face was stricken with excitement. She looked at the clock on the wall. "It looks like we'll have to meet up some other time," she said. "I have lots to do today, but I'll be sure to give this a read through afterwards."

Back out in the window-walled hall, he felt a sudden nausea overcome him, and saw outside that the ship rapidly slowed to immobility in a field of dust and rock. They had arrived. They were now in the Great Wastelands.

* * *

"Alright pilots, Once outside we'll wait in military parade before we're given the go ahead," Mark said. He looked at the other squad leaders, wearing a custom flight suit based on their squad colour, then walked over to the other four members of Red Squad.

"So, we all know what to do, then?" Isabella asked.

"I guess so," Eric responded. The other two nodded, and they started for their fighters. The racks looked full. He knew there were four squadrons, therefore twenty interceptors going out. The _Mothership_ could compliment a hundred and fifty, Mark said one day. He had no idea how. The windshield sealed around him. The green launch signal came soon enough, and when it was his turn, he blasted off down the hangar and pulled up and out the opening to meet up with the others. Mark came out behind him, and the Isabella after him. Eric accepted the squadron chat invite. "It's so dark," he said.

"Closest star is half a light-years away, so yeah, it would be," she replied.

"Then what's the story behind this asteroid cluster?" said her wingman, Carol.

"I looked it up earlier," she replied. "Some ejected debris from a planet forming system nearby. There's likely to be more like it, that's why the Sjet are searching for more in case we need to stop somewhere again."

"Interesting," Eric said.

He noticed ahead of them the resource collectors already heading off to do their work. Another larger ship just finished leaving the capital bay and was now following. He assumed it to be the mobile refinery ship. Mostly crewed by Somtaaw, the most suited clan for that area of work. He knew very little about them, but knew that they were in control of resourcing operations and processing, the most independent of any clan in the fleet.

Not much time passed before the alert light flashed on his dash. "Long range sensors indicate a mothership-class mass signature. It's closing in fast," said the voice over his comms, Leonard, as he learned from Mark's training. He oversaw the process one day but said nothing.

The words took time to register in his mind, then he felt what he'd describe as a combination of anticipation and concern rush through him.

"Stay calm," Mark said over their private channel.

A yellow doorway cut through the fabric of space ahead of them. He'd expected possibly the Taiidan fleet, or even the pirates from the outer Kharak system. It was neither. A large vessel tan in colour exited through the doorway. The designed looked like none they'd encountered before. It turned to face the _Mothership_, revealing it to be a horseshoe with a bright city of yellow lights covering its interior. He was in awe by the sight, and assumed the others were as well by the silence of the radio bands. Were they friend or foe? How did they find them? It was not attacking, therefore no attack order was given.

"Full combat alert, standby for contact." The squads broke into their separate delta formations but remained in passive mode. A standard procedure, one of the few Mark had covered with them.

He looked back to the hangar and saw the ambassador craft launch. It was a modified unarmed heavy corvette.

"Ambassador away," Karan's voice echoed over the speakers. Her voice had a calming charm to it, unlike Leonard's.

"Trajectory locked in, hailing signal open on all channels." The ambassador ship moved closer to the odd alien ship, keeping a safe speed and breaking occasionally to ensure the other ship that it would not collide. "Entering magnetic field now. Almost there…" It was now within the narrow trench, lit up by the city lights. "Fleet, we've lost guidance and are being drawn in. There's a lot of lights… uh… there seems to be some kind of activity inside, I can see—" his signal cut out. He and the rest of the fleet waited patiently, unknowing, unsure.

A short moment later a signal was received from the alien ship itself. "We are the Bentusi and welcome you among space-fairing cultures. The Unbound. The outer-rim trade routes were established in the First Time by our ancestors. The resources you gather are of value to the Bentusi Exchange. They will serve as an acceptable medium for trade." He stared blankly ahead, his mouth hanging open a little, unsure how to process the situation. "It has been our custom to equip our partners with an exchange unit. It has therefore been provided to your ambassador as a gesture of good will." The craft now launched from the alien vessel.

"Fleet, this is the ambassador. We are clear of the Bentusi vessel, all systems are green. Harbour control has released guidance and the exchange unit is secure. Receiving crews, prep the quarantine chamber."

"Roger that, quarantine chambers standing by."

As they waited for more information, he sat in his chair wondering how vast the galaxy must be. How many factions were there to consider other than the ones they've met? How many were hostile, and how many of them would they encounter?

"Bentusi trade link established," Karan's voice said breaking the silence.

"Turanic Raiders, servants of the Taiidan are arriving. They must not learn of our contact. We must depart. All that moves is easily heard in the void. We will listen for you. Farewell." As sudden as was their arrival, just so could be said for their departure. It vanished into the yellow doorway.


End file.
